The Inquisitor's Ghost
by nothelping
Summary: She met him in the dungeons of the White Spire. She was the only one who could see him, remember him. Five years later, and Cole was back in her life, appearing out of thin air, just like the ghostly apparition he was, tempting her with something she could never have. Because every mage knew: Never take a demon into your soul. You'll change yourself forever.
1. Chapter 1 - Cole

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Description**: She met him in the dungeons of the White Spire. She was the only one who could see him, the only one who could remember him. She never thought she'd ever see him again, though she'd never forgotten him. His memory haunted her. And now, five years later, he was back in her life, appearing out of thin air just like the ghostly apparition he was. Like the spirit he was, the demon. Tempting her with something she could never have. Because every mage knew, you never take a demon into your soul. You'll change yourself forever.

**Author's Note**: Part I and II of this story are based on the book "Dragon Age: Asunder" by David Gaider, the lead writer of the Dragon Age games. The book takes places about a year after the conclusion of Dragon Age 2, and about two years prior to Varric's interrogation by Cassandra. The book is the origins story of Cole, a mystical killer who stalks the halls of the White Spire and later a possible Companion of the Inquisitor in Dragon Age 3. The whole book centers on finding out who and what Cole is, which you the reader (as well as Cole the character) discover at the end. Since Parts I and II of this story take place before the events in Dragon Age: Asunder, Cole himself still doesn't know what he is in the Parts I and II of this story. Part III starts at the beginning of the third game.

**Disclaimer**: BioWare owns Dragon Age and its characters. I just play with them.

**Part I – The Ghost of the Spire**

**Chapter 1 – Cole**

_In the absence of light, shadows thrive._

_-Threnodies 8:21, Chant of Light_

_9:36 Dragon _

_The White Spire_

A dark figure moved easily through the blackness of the catacombs like a wraith. The shadows skittered around him as if frightened by what was coming through the darkness. The rats fled out of his path, as if threatened by an approaching danger.

The catacombs were located beneath the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux, which was used by the local Circle of Magi and acted as a templar stronghold in Orlais.

The lone figure came to a stop in front of a large, heavily armored door that blocked his path. His pale hand lifted, his calloused fingers tracing over the ancient arcane, carved symbols that adorned the wall next to the door that led to the dungeons. Despite the templars' hatred of the Tevinter magisters, they were more than willing use the Tevinter magisters' magic to lock up their own.

His fingers moved dexterously over the rusted bolts and locks of the door, until the colossal padlocks opened for him. The metal door opened with a loud, whining creak to reveal a long and dismal hallway.

The figure moved down the dark corridor that was only lighted by a single wall sconce every few feet. His footsteps were a broken rhythm on the cracked and dirty concrete floor. He kept to the shadows, apart of them, proceeding down the gloomy corridor toward the dark abyss that was the dungeons that dwelled below the lively halls of the White Spire where the mages lived with their templar tormentors. There were many levels in the great Tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces. He rarely went up there. He was more comfortable down below, with the things the templars had forgotten as well as the things they _wanted_ to forget. The bowls of the Tower reached deep into the earth, and they were his home. He loved the darkness. He felt at one with it, attuned to its harmonies and its discords.

Moments later, and he was passing through the last heavily metaled door that would lead him to the dungeons. The dungeons of the Spire were filled with hundreds and hundreds of cells on multiple levels. But one inhabitant in one particular cell was calling to him, like a siren's call. He could _feel_ them. Could feel their pain. It was as if their broken spirit was crying out to him.

They needed help. They needed mercy. They needed a way out.

And he would give it to them.

Snaking through the shadows as if born to them, the lone figure moved deeper into the dark depths of the dungeons of the Spire. The air grew more stale and harder to breathe with each step he took, his surroundings morbid with their dripping walls and lichen-splotched ceilings. The cries of the tormented echoed in this dark place and the prisoners' blood and death were imprinted into the stone.

He never liked coming here unless he absolutely had to, when he felt he would fade into nothingness at any given moment.

The mages and templars both feared this place. The recent stories that circulated through the crowded halls of the White Spire increased their caution to approach the dungeons. The stories kept them away. Stories of a mystical killer that was rumored to stalk the halls, granting apprentices and newly-arrived mages a swift end rather than the eventual prospect of Tranquility or execution by the templars. This unworldly specter was said to appear from the very pits of hell, taking not only the lives but also the souls of his victims. Race, age, and gender were no concern to this killer who willfully took the lives of mages without a single witness. A few mages and templars claimed to have seen a strange young man wandering the halls of the Spire, but their memory was faulty and in time they forgot him completely. And so this killer was granted a name that was feared by both mages and templars alike.

_I am the Ghost of the Spire_.

It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind. It seemed fitting, he thought, since a ghost didn't exist. A ghost travelled unseen amongst the living. A ghost was a soul that was lost on its way to the Maker's side. A ghost was left to drift alone in an empty wasteland of shadow. But ghosts where of the dead.

Cole wasn't dead.

He slept, he hungered, he breathed, he bled, he sweat. Those were not things dead people did.

_No_, Cole thought, _I'm not dead. Yet, at the same time, I don't exist_.

Venturing down a circular stairway, Cole navigated into the lower chambers of the dungeons to where the prisoners were held. He turned a corner and glided down a dark and dismal hallway, cells on either side of him. Most of the cells were empty, but some housed mages, young and old and of every different race. But they all had one thing in common: hopelessness.

Cole moved in front of the metal bars completely unseen. The inhabitants didn't raise their heads as he passed in front of their prison cells, whether because they knew no one was coming to release them or because they couldn't see him, he didn't know.

No one ever saw him. No one ever remembered him. He was lost in a world that couldn't see him, couldn't remember him. Loneliness and emptiness were his only companions.

Cole overheard muted cries and sniffles to his right and slowed as he passed a cell that contained a human female with short, white-blonde hair. He recognized the young woman, but only by sight. Cole had watched both the male mages and templars stare at her with a strange look in their eyes that closely resembled hunger. It was odd and he had difficulty comprehending it. Cole had watched the sorceress meet with a few male mages in dark corners of the Tower. Cole had watched them, unseen as always, trying to understand what they were doing rutting against one another and making strange sounds.

Cole looked at the woman through his bangs that always hung into his eyes as he contemplated this woman's fate. She was an apprentice with little talent for magic. She was currently awaiting the Right of Tranquility.

_Tranquil_.

Cole almost shivered at the name. They walked aimlessly, emotionlessly, stripped of their abilities and doomed to live in passive service to their tormentors.

He felt pity for the woman crying sorrowfully in her cell.

Cole looked away from the woman's pitiful form and quickened his pace, turning left down another dark and dismal corridor.

He was close now, he thought, acutely aware of everything around him. He loathed how his pulse was pounding in eagerness, adrenaline surging in his blood, his anticipation mounting as he drew closer to the siren's call. He despised himself for coming here, for what he planned to do, but it could not be helped. He had desperately fought the pull, but he could fight it no longer.

It was the only way, he knew, the only way to remain.

Cole stumbled abruptly as an ominous coldness gripped him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he reached out for the wall to steady himself, afraid his hand would pass right through the stone wall. He suddenly felt like he was disappearing, like he was becoming transparent. He felt like he was drifting away, as if he were exhausted and on the verge of sleep, being lulled into a slumber he knew he'd never awaken from.

There was only one way to ensure he awakened. Only one way to prevent himself from becoming immaterial.

The panic rose within him, clawing at his throat as he felt the shadows surround him, seep into his skin, and he feared at any moment he would be lost in them forever.

It was his greatest fear.

_Not now_, he cringed, fighting the shadows that threatened to swallow him whole. _Not yet!_

He was trembling. His heart was hammering. A cold sweat was pouring down his face.

The shadows abruptly stopped closing in on him and he found he had regained the ability to breathe.

On a ragged exhale, Cole's hand came up to rub at his clammy forehead. He inhaled slowly, taking air into his expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly. After a few more breaths, his breathing slowed, returned to normal, and he relished in the feel of firm and solid flesh beneath his fingertips.

He was still real.

_It's not too late_.

Cole breathed with a relief that was soul deep, though he still felt trapped somewhere between what was real and unreal.

After a few moments, he was able to collect himself somewhat and push the darkness down deep into himself, control it, and keep it at bay. His hand slowly fell away from the wall and he continued forward.

His stride became more determined as he drew closer to the cell that seemed to be calling his name. After passing a few dozen cells, Cole's pulse quickened in tandem with his footsteps as he turned the corner and came to a stop in front of a cell. The siren's call was coming from within that cell, calling out to him, drawing him to it.

Nearly trembling with anticipation, Cole pulled the key he had easily lifted from the templar on guard and unlocked the cell door. It swung open to reveal a male elf in his early twenties lying on the damp stone floor, whimpering. The elf's yellow mage robes were dirty, his face was bruised, and his straight black hair hung in lank strands over his thin shoulders, loose strands sticking to his forehead. The rats surrounded him, nipping at his flesh, but the elf didn't seem to notice or care. The elf also didn't seem to notice or care that his cell door was open, and that Cole was standing in the doorway. He was completely oblivious to his presence.

_Everyone is oblivious to my presence_, Cole thought with a twinge of misery and soul-wrenching loneliness. No one ever saw him. Those few who did see him soon forgot he ever existed within a day or two. He wasn't even certain that he did exist.

Cole strode right up to the man, completely unnoticed. He bent down to rest his elbows on his knees as he stood balanced on the balls of his feet. His face was inches away from the other man's, though the elf remained oblivious to Cole's presence. Cole's eyes ran over the man's emaciated form huddled on the ground. The mage was lying on his side, curled into himself, praying in his lonesome cell with his head bent and hands folded in prayer.

There in the cold and nothingness, Cole watched the mage beg for death, just like all the rest. Cole's head tilted slightly as he studied the elf. This right here was the most painful moment of this man's life. He was beaten, bruised, tortured, helpless, hopeless, and left in a deep, dark hole to rot until the rats were eating at his dead carcass.

The mage suddenly lifted his head, the last words of his prayer falling almost silently from his lips as his eyes met Cole's. Cole's heart leapt as he saw recognition. The mage could _see_ him. The elf's eyes were staring right at him with confusion, weariness, fear, and pain. So much pain.

"You can see me," Cole stated quietly, his relief palpable. He suddenly didn't feel so alone.

"Who… who are you?" the mage said without emotion, his lips cracked and chapped from dehydration.

"My name is Cole." His voice was raspy from none use. He hadn't spoken since the last one.

The elf's gaunt face was apathetic as he sat up, though Cole remained kneeling in front of him on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees. "What are you doing here?" the mage asked, though it didn't seem like he particularly cared to know the answer.

Cole was silent for a long moment. "I came because you can see me."

The elf stared at him with dead eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Cole reached under his leather vest and drew a wicked looking dagger from its ebony sheath. It was an ornate blade with an elaborate brass hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head.

The elf's eyes fixed blankly upon the dagger in his hand. "Are you… are you going to kill me?" the elf asked in a small voice.

"I think so. Yes."

The elf's expression remained eerily calm, but his eyes turned questioning. "Why?"

"I'm… fading away," Cole confessed solemnly. "I can feel myself becoming immaterial… unreal." Cole's expression was apologetic, his eyes somber. "I have to do this. I'm sorry."

The mage released a ragged breath of acceptance. "Oh… okay." His eyes lowered and stared fixed upon the ground for a moment before they looked up at Cole again with something akin to serenity. "It won't hurt anymore?"

Cole's eyes remained locked with his. "No, it won't hurt anymore," he promised. "I'll take the pain away."

The elf swallowed hard. "Will you… will you make it quick?"

Cole nodded slowly.

The elf's head bowed and his hands clasped as he said a final prayer. When he was done, his head remained bent, but his hands fell limply into his lap.

Cole leaned forward, his heart thumping madly in his chest. "Look into my eyes…"

The mage's head lifted, slowly, so slowly. When his eyes finally met Cole's, they were filled with weary relief and peaceful acceptance. "I'm ready to go to the Maker's side."

"Thank you," Cole whispered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger, his pulse erratic.

The blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness of the cell a second before Cole buried it in a smooth upward strike into the heart of the mage. Blood gurgled in the elf's throat before spilling out of the corners of his mouth to roll in lines down the sides of his mouth and chin. Cole stared down into his wide eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him. The mage collapsed forward into Cole's arms and the knife was gently pulled free, releasing a flow of blood that stained his yellow robes crimson. Cole held the mage close, waiting for the spasms to stop, watching the final spark of life leave his eyes before gently allowing the limp body to sink to the floor.

Cole immediately stumbled and fell back against the cell wall clutching the blood soaked dagger in his hand, his bloody knuckles white around the hilt of the blade as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't stop looking at those eyes, staring off into nothing.

Cole cradled his head on his knees and rocked back and forth.

_Murderer_.

That's what they called him – both the mages and the templars of the Tower. But he didn't see it that way. He wasn't taking their lives away from them. He was freeing them, granting them a swift end, rather than the eventual prospect of Tranquility or execution by the templars.

He wasn't acting selflessly though, Cole knew. He felt as if he were fading away, lacking a connection to the world, and the killings somehow strengthened it. They made him feel _alive_. He thrived on the adrenaline, the blood rushing through him when he pushed his blade into a mage's chest, seeing the gratitude in the mage's eyes as they stared up at him, silently thanking him. Each time he looked into their eyes, he saw recognition reflected in them.

They _saw_ him. Truly _saw_ him.

In those moments before he granted them freedom, he was the most important thing in their entire world. Those moments reduced the cold emptiness in his chest and the loneliness chilling his veins. It made him feel a part of the world, rather than an insignificant speck floating in and out of existence.

_You can't keep doing this._

Cole continued to rock back and forth as the thought echoed in his mind. But killing like this… it felt… _good_. It left him burning with life force and feeling real, vital, and alive. And that's what he needed most - to feel alive. He wanted it, needed it, with a desperation that reached the very marrow of his bones.

_You need to stop._

Cole lifted his head and took slow and deliberate breaths as he watched the blood oozing out of the hole he'd made in the mage's chest. It was red - dark, wet, glistening crimson on the stone floor.

Blood red… it was his favorite color.

He liked blood. Liked the red color, liked the coppery smell, and the feel of it between his fingers. Blood was life. Blood was power. He could see the allure of why mages turned to blood magic.

_You need to stop._

Cole steeled himself as he rose to his feet. He would resist the siren's call next time, even though it might mean he would cease to exist in this world. Cole left the cell and locked it behind him. He moved swiftly through the dungeons to where the templar guard was sleeping beside the door that led to the higher levels of the Tower. Cole easily returned the key and washed his dagger and his hands in a bucket of water before sheathing his blade.

For a moment he considered going up to the Tower to steal some food and watch the mages as he typically did, but decided against it. Instead, he turned and started making his way back to the catacombs where he lived.

Cole was making his way to the other side of the dungeons when he turned a corner and came to a stop at the end of a long hallway that was lined with cells that held some of the most dangerous mages. He saw eight armored templars at the end of the hallway throwing someone into a cell. Cole's head cocked to the side as he surveyed the templars struggling to keep the lone prisoner from escaping the cell.

Cole's eyes glistened with interest in the shadows beneath the shaggy bangs that hung in his eyes. He should retreat and take the longer route to the catacombs, he knew, but his feet remained rooted. He couldn't help but be curious. He'd never seen so many templars drag down a single mage.

"Careful," Templar One warned the others. "This one knows how to conjure fire and ice as well as electricity and earth. She's dangerous."

Templar Two snorted contemptuously. "I'd like to see her try to-"

A fist came flying out of the cell and slammed into Templar Two, sending him flying backwards into the metal bars of the cell behind him.

"Sweet blood of Andraste!" Templar One gasped as he watched Templar Two sink to the floor, knocked unconscious by the single blow. "I thought we bound her hands with Mage's Bane-" A Stonefist suddenly slammed into the side of his head and Templar One fell to the ground, the loud crack of his skull as it collided with the stone floor echoing in the hallway, reaching even Cole's ears.

"How is she able to use magic?! She should be entirely drained of mana?!" Templar Three shouted as he unsheathed his sword when a knee came up to ram into his family jewels. Templar Three grunted in pain while he doubled over, cupping himself as he fell sideways to the ground.

Templar Four swiftly performed a Cleanse to purge the area of hostile magic, while Templar Five rushed forward, but became encased in a block of ice before he could reach the cell.

Templar Four's eyes widened in fear. "I used a Cleanse! She couldn't have been unable to use magic for-" His words were cut off as he was suddenly lifted into the air by an invisible force before being slammed back down to the ground, like a ragdoll, as though pummeled by a great fist.

"Telekinesis!" Templar Six shouted. "She's a Force Mage!"

Templar's Six and Seven jumped together to overpower the prisoner, but their bodies instantly fell to the floor, seizuring and spasming, as jolts of electricity shot through them.

"Andraste's great flaming ass! Lock her up! LOCK HER UP!" Templar Seven shouted before a spell of Horror hit him causing terrifying visions to rend his mind, leaving him stunned.

Templar Eight rushed towards the cell but a Spirit Bolt shot out of the cell toward him. Templar Eight spun and avoided it before launching himself at the unseen prisoner inside the cell. Cole could hear the grunts and scuffle of a fight going on inside of the cell followed by a loud cry of pain by a male voice and then a loud crack of what could only be a fist slamming into bone.

"You fucking bitch!" Cole heard a male voice bark inside the cell before there was a loud crash, of what could only be a body being thrown against a stone wall.

Cole watched Templar Eight limp out of the cell, cradling a heavily bleeding arm and sporting two black eyes and a busted nose before slamming the cell door shut with a loud and ominous clang. Templar Eight fumbled with a large ring of iron keys before sticking the one he wanted into the lock and sliding it into place. Two small hands suddenly reached through the bars to grab his armor before yanking him forward and slamming his head into the metal bars. Templar Eight slumped to the floor in a heap.

The prisoner's hand was reaching between the bars and was twisting the key to unlock the cell, when Templar Seven recovered from the Horror spell and stepped up to the bars and slammed the hilt of his blade between the bars into the cell. There was a loud grunt followed by what sounded like a body falling to the ground.

Cole watched, astounded, as the templars struggled to their feet and revived their fallen comrades with health potions. The eight templars stood and limped away towards where Cole was hiding at the end of the hallway, each sporting numerous injuries.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay, André," Cole heard Templar Seven say to Templar Eight. "You usually like having you're way with the women. You know, teach them a lesson about authority."

Templar Eight cradled his arm as he shook his head. "That one's not pretty enough to tempt me, especially knowing the fight she would put up. I'd have to beat her into submission, and even then I don't think she would submit. I'd probably just end up killing her. Too much trouble."

Templar Three snorted. "You've got that right. She's a bloody she-devil, she is! She nearly scratched my eyes out dragging her down here!"

Templar Five nodded in agreement. "Trouble is the best way to describe that bitch. Though, I wonder if the drapes match the carpet? I've never seen hair that color before."

There were a few snickers at that remark. As they drew closer to where Cole was hiding, one templar lifted his head, looking straight at Cole. Cole sucked in a sharp breath, expecting to see recognition in his eyes. But the man saw through him and soon looked away.

The templars drew impossibly close and Cole stayed where he was, nervously holding his breath as they drew even closer. He felt immaterial, as if he were made of the same substance as the shadows. When they reached him, however, they did what most people did: they walked around him, completely oblivious to him. It was never a sure thing, and Cole always half expected that someone might see him. Half hoped, even.

Once the templars were out of sight, Cole turned his attention to the cell that was at the end of the long hallway. Fascinated, Cole moved on silent feet toward the cell of the prisoner that had easily taken on eight armed templars. He moved silently down the dark corridor that was only lighted by a single wall sconce every few feet, his footfalls muted against the grimy stone floor. Moments later, he came to an abrupt halt in front of the metal bars to the prisoner's cell.

The cold, swirling emptiness in his chest froze for a second as his eyes collided with a young girl, no more than eighteen, sitting on the floor with her back against the grimy wall and her arms resting on her bent knees. Through the wayward strands of hair hanging in his eyes, Cole's gaze traveled over her, assessing her with utter curiosity.

The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. How could he not? It was a thick, heavy, untamed mass of curls that were a shocking fiery red color that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. The vibrant crimson color of her hair contrasted richly with her sun-kissed skin, her smooth complexion sprinkled with light freckles, a healthy glow to her features. There was a bruise on her cheek that was a terrible black and dark purple and she sported a busted lip. Her lips were full and ripe and so dark a red they almost matched her hair.

His eyes trailed lower. She was not dressed in robes as he imagined, but in coppery chainmail, with black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. She had a tall, slender figure that was lined with lean muscle and slight feminine curves that were only accentuated by the figure-hugging armor she wore. She looked strong and tough, like a girl who fought as easily as she breathed.

The girl lifted her head to the ceiling and exhaled heavily, wearily, but surprisingly not in defeat. Through the wild flaming curls that framed her face, Cole got a good look at her. She was striking with her bright and vivid coloring, freckled face, and narrow, fine-boned features.

_She doesn't belong here_, Cole immediately thought and was surprised by the force behind it. She looked too young and too bright to be here… in this place… a place full of nothing but darkness, hopelessness, blood and death.

The girl's head suddenly turned sharply toward him and Cole found himself staring into the deepest most mesmerizing blue-green eyes he'd ever seen. Cole stilled, his body rigid with shock and disbelief as those arresting orbs stared him dead in the eyes beneath a thatch of charcoal lashes. Her eyes were sharp with keen intelligence and her wildly unruly curls framed her bruised face as she stared at him.

"I know you're there," the girl said in a low voice, answering his unspoken question. Her voice held a honeyed warmth that was soft and feminine, yet lined with a strength and fierceness like that of a lioness.

Cole felt tension coil within him as she stared right at him, a tightly wound knot. His world came to a standstill as a single thought ran frantically through his mind: _Did she see me?_

"Come out of the shadows," she stated firmly, the authority in her voice enough to rival that of the Knight-Commander, despite her few years.

For a long moment Cole did nothing. He stood perfectly still, cloaked in shadow, staring numbly the girl. The shock of finding someone who could see him was so considerable that he felt the effects of it deep within himself. The girl stared at him while he stared back at her, curiosity and interest reflected in her brilliant blue-green eyes.

_Aquamarine_, Cole thought as he stared into them, _like gemstones_.

The girl's head tilted slightly, her eyes locked with his, refusing to release him. Cole's eyes closely followed her arm as it lifted in front of her and watched as she drew upon the Fade. Part of Cole wondered if the girl would use her magic on him. Would she conjure fire? What would that be like? Could she kill him?

But she didn't try to kill him. Instead, she summoned a flame that hovered a few inches above the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across her face. Something within him shifted as he stared at her. Now, as he studied her, he could see that there was a light inside her that shone like a beacon, bright and warm like a welcoming fire on a cold night. He could feel it then; inside him. And then, for a fleeting instance he could _see_ it too. The light in her hand and the light that seemed to be shining from within her stretched out across the cell and seeped into his skin, making him feel warmth for the first time since… since he could remember.

Irresistibly impelled, Cole stepped closer toward her, toward the warmth, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars. Cole watched her eyes flicker with new emotions as he moved out of the comfort and safety of the cold, dark shadows that surrounded him and into the warm, bright light she cast. Now that he was visible to her, he expected to see fear in her eyes. They always looked at him with fear. But there was no fear in this girl's eyes, though there was sudden suspicion and distrust reflected in those aqua orbs.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded, her voice direct and challenging, a blood red curl falling over her eyes that were impaling him with such a severe look that it stole his breath away.

Cole could do nothing but stare at her, unblinking and dumbfounded. He felt like the world was collapsing around him. His mind was unable to comprehend just how this girl was able to see him. She was neither weak nor praying for death. She was neither hopeless nor consumed with defeat and despair. This girl was strong and fierce and would never give up trying to escape, he could see it right there in her aquamarine eyes.

_So then how… how can she see me? _

**Author's Note**: The opening words of the book Dragon Age: Asunder are: "_I am the Ghost of the Spire_. It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind." I thought I should give a little salute and tribute to David Gaider. There are also a few other lines taken from the book. For example, the description of Cole's blade is the same as in the book since we will most likely see it in the Dragon Age 3 game and I thought you guys might like to read the original description of it. Also, when Cole says, "Look into my eyes…" that is a line Cole says multiple times in the book right before he kills someone. It is a line he will most likely say in the third game. I have uploaded some pictures and videos on my bio page.


	2. Chapter 2 - Ember

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 2 – Ember**

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls _

_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew_

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you_

_In my arms lies Eternity_

_- Andraste 14:11_

A low, sinister feminine chuckle echoed within the prison cell as a young human woman watched the eight templars flee from her like frightened vermin. They limped away, a few still groaning in pain from the damage she'd inflected upon them, each holding either a black eye, an injured limb, or a pair of damaged testacles. Her blue-green eyes gleamed from beneath long black lashes as she watched the templars from behind the metal bars, priding herself on the destruction she'd left in her wake.

She dragged her thumb across her split lip, removing the blood that had accumulated there. Her thumb lingered on the cut in her bottom lip and her lips curved dangerously as she listened to the conversation the fleeing templars were having.

So, the little templar named André liked raping imprisoned female mages who couldn't fight back, did he?

While she knew nothing about men - having never even been kissed - she wasn't ignorant to the atrocities a man could inflict upon a woman. But no man would ever rape her.

They'd die first.

If the little templar dared to try and put his hands on her, he would meet the Maker slowly, painfully, begging for mercy. Despite the mana draining bars that caged her, she would pull everything she could from the Fade and unleash it upon him.

She would destroy him.

And she would smile while she did it.

But the templars weren't coming back. She could hear their footsteps getting fainter and fainter. She heard the slam of heavy doors, the bolts crashing into place, leaving her alone with only her thoughts and the rats to keep her company.

Ember breathed in steadily, then out again as she heard nothing at all except the cries of the tormented and deranged that echoed around her.

Her eyes narrowed on the bars in front of her face and she turned away from them with a look of disgust. She moved across the small cell to the side wall. The hobble made it difficult. Her leg hurt where one of those bastards had kicked her. But she did not think it was broken – it took her weight when she tested it. It was a mere flesh wound.

She'd suffered far worse in her few years.

With a wince she lowered her bruised and battered body to the filthy floor that stunk of mold, blood, and death. How many had died in this exact spot? She wondered with a grimace of revulsion.

A huge brown rat scurried across the floor, running toward the darkness on the other side of her cell.

_What a wonderful way to celebrate your eighteenth birthday_, Ember thought with a snort as she adjusted on the dirty floor to press her back against the stone wall, heavy exhaustion following in the wake of blood-pumping adrenaline. The sad thing was this wasn't even the worse birthday she'd ever had. Her birthdays had always been cursed. The worst days of her life had all been on her birthday.

Her hand came up to rub tenderly at her throbbing and swollen jaw. Her face ached where one of the templars had hit her. There was blood and a piece of broken tooth in her mouth. She spat it out on the floor.

With a weary sigh, she bent her knees and rested her elbows on them. A faint tremble shook her. Nerves and stress. She hadn't slept in days. Hadn't eaten a real meal in twice that time – a loaf of bread stretched between. They wouldn't feed her much here, she knew. But she didn't expect to be here long. She'd escaped jail cells in the past and she would do so again.

_Although, this time might take a little more finesse_, she thought glumly as she eyed the magically enhanced bars that imprisoned her.

She'd heard stories of this place – the dungeons of the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux were feared by every mage in Thedas. The bars here drew on a mage's mana, draining it to nothing, like a leech sucking the blood of its victim. She could feel it, feel the magic they contained reaching out to try and extinguish her power.

Ember blew a red springy curl away from her face as she looked around her prison cell. This place was dark and bitter cold and wet with dried blood splashed across the dirty stone floor. A foul mix of odors stung her nostrils - rot, urine, blood, and decay. There was nothing in the cell except for a dirty chamber pot in the corner. Her heart sank. She was locked away, caged, trapped in a small metal box. She was left to rot in a grimy, cramped space, wrapped in almost total darkness.

An airless void rose up, threatening to choke her. She prayed to the Maker that this would not be her grave.

_No_. Her head shook adamantly, dark crimson curls whipping around her face. _I will not die here. I am destined for something… greater_.

Ember nodded resolutely. She would escape this dismal place, or die trying. And once she escaped, she would pay a little visit to the person that had betrayed her to the templars. Her eyes glittered maliciously at the thought. She didn't run from her problems. She ran through them, like a battering ram. And there was no question that the one who'd betrayed her trust was a problem, one she would deal with in time.

Her gaze fell, her head tilted. The rat was back, nibbling on the laces of her thigh-high leather boot. Despite herself, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a smirk. This one was bold, fearless, reckless. She liked it. It reminded her of herself, a kindred spirit. She wondered how the little guy felt being locked away in this place, not free to roam the wild and overgrown forests just outside the White Spire Tower?

Feeling a vulnerability she rarely felt, Ember wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold was biting, seeping through her coppery chainmail armor, down into her skin, and aching in her bones. She'd dreaded being locked up like this ever since her eighth birthday when she'd set the family barn on fire with only her hands.

Her parents had tortured her, maimed her, left deep and lingering scars on her body and mind. But they couldn't break her and when they couldn't, her parents turned her over to the templars without a backward glance, thankful to be rid of her and her cursed magic. But she didn't go quietly with the templars.

Not willingly. Never willingly.

Even as a child she was too unruly, her will too strong, her spirit to wild. Even at the age of eight, Ember knew she'd rather die than be caged, than be forced into obedience, than be the servant of another's will.

After her parents' betrayal, she'd managed to escape from the clutches of the templars. As soon as she broke free of them she ran, she ran as fast as her little legs could take her, and she's been running ever since.

_Apostate_. That was the name they branded her with. But that detested title never stopped her from tempting fate - or making it obey her will.

She'd run from her home in the solitary country of Orlais to a small village in Ferelden.

Lothering.

It was by pure chance that she'd come across a friendly family of warriors and apostates. A gentle man named Malcolm Hawke and his wife Leandra and their three children Marian, Carver, and Bethany had taken her in, protecting her, saving her. She'd been only a child of eight summers when she'd met the Hawke family, while Marian had been eighteen and the twins sixteen.

Malcolm and Bethany had taught her about magic. They taught her how to wield it and an arsenal of spells. But they taught her how to hide her magic from recognition, to keep her identity as an apostate hidden. Carver had made her run for miles, building her muscles by making her engage in strenuous physical exercises. Leandra had taught her how to be a lady. The kind noblewoman had educated her and taught her poise, grace, and charm. She also taught her how to act with manners when out in public and to be able to mingle effortlessly in social settings and high society.

But it was Marian that had instantly captured Ember's undying admiration. Hawke was strong, brilliant, charismatic, and beautiful. She could make anyone laugh, even her enemies. The woman could pick any lock with her eyes closed and lift a man's wedding ring without him knowing it. But the charming woman would become a terrifying foe when she unsheathed her twin daggers that were always strapped to her back. That woman was fierce in battle, glorious in her wrath, and unstoppable once she actually put her mind to something.

That was the kind of woman Ember wanted to be. A woman who was strong - strong enough to ensure her own freedom from the templars and anyone else who dared try and imprison her.

After four years of living with the Hawke family, Ember had become a deadly mage. But she refused to use her magic, except for training in secret or when she absolutely had to when her life depended on it. Instead, she used her mana to hide her magic and she'd gotten so good at it that not even a templar could detect she was a mage, even if he was standing right next to her. She preferred it that way. She refused to be detected and taken again, to be locked up, to be anything but her own keeper.

No one would ever rule over her. No one.

Wanting to be able to protect herself without having to use magic, Ember had forced herself to become a rogue. Hawke trained her, and trained her well. She learned to wield blades and a bow, spending every second of every day perfecting her skills until she was better than any rogue.

But it all came crashing down on her twelfth birthday.

Ember and Malcolm had gone to Redcliffe Village to meet an old friend of Malcolm's for potions and runes, and a staff for a birthday present. Teagan Guerrin was the Bann of Rainesfere and the younger brother of Arl Eamon, and Ember did not trust him with their secret. But Malcolm trusted him, assured her that the man would not reveal their identities as apostates. Despite her instincts telling her not to go, Ember had trusted Malcolm's judgment.

But he was wrong. So wrong.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed them that day to a templar named Ser Perth. Ember and Malcolm fought them, fought being captured and enslaved. Malcolm, who had become like a father to her, had sacrificed himself so that she could escape. He would never see his family again, all because of his friend's betrayal.

Frightened and running for her life, Ember dared not return to the safety of the Hawke cabin, fearing she would lead her templar pursuers to them, endangering them. So, she'd run as fast as she could to Denerim and stole aboard the first ship she could found.

After days at sea, raiders on a notorious ship called the Siren's Call had attacked. An infamous pirate captain named Isabela attacked the cargo ship Ember was hiding on with cannon fire and without mercy. Ember had abandoned ship, barely escaping the notorious Queen of the Eastern Seas, and swam to the nearest island called Seheron.

It was on the island that she'd met the legendary Fog Warriors. The Fog Warriors were a group of freedom fighters native to the jungles of Seheron. They sought to make the island independent from both Qunari and Imperium rule. They come to her silently amid a deep and unnatural fog that had magical properties and offered her their protection and allegiance. She'd joined their ranks, painting her armor and skin a pale white, becoming one of them. They educated her on the Qun and taught her their fighting style and new spells. In her time with them, Ember had developed a deep sense of camaraderie with the Fog Warriors. They were strong of will, courageous, independent, bowing to no one. She respected and admired them, proud to call herself one of them.

One day, while patrolling the eastern coast, a strange elf with white hair and strange markings washed up on the shore of the island. Ember's small band of Fog Warriors found him and she used her healing magic to nurse him back to health. The moody elf stayed with them for a time. The elf was quiet and kept to himself. He was always brooding and scowling, snapping at those around him like a wounded wolf. But in time they were able to get past his hard exterior and catch a glimpse of the broken soul within.

On her thirteenth birthday a powerful Tevinter magister by the name of Danarius came to the island. He claimed to be the elf's master. The Fog Warriors did not believe in slavery and they refused to let the mage take the elf. Ember fought along side her brothers and sisters in arms. She wielded both magic and daggers. She was an unstoppable force, and for a moment she felt as powerful as Hawke. When the battle had almost been won, Ember had turned to the elf and gave him an assuring smile. It was at that moment that Danarius ordered the elf to kill them.

And the elf did.

Starting with her.

The elf's body had glowed with an eerie white light before he thrust his hand into her chest. She'd felt his hand wrap around her heart and she expected him to rip it from her body. But the elf hesitated, his eyes a deep shade of green agony. He pulled his hand free of her chest but her heart remained within it. He hadn't caused any serious damage, though she'd fallen to the ground, unconscious.

When she'd awakened she'd found the Fog Warriors dead. All of them. The elf had killed every last one of them. Men, women, children. He'd betrayed them. They'd shown him nothing but kindness and he'd betrayed them, slaughtering them all.

All but her, as if Andraste herself was watching over her, protecting her.

Ember lifted her head to stare up at the pitch-black ceiling of her prison cell, her breath leaving her in a heavy, jagged rush. That seemed like a lifetime ago instead of five years. By this point in her short life she was quite familiar with the bitter sting of betrayal and the resulting pain, hatred, and loneliness.

Her family had betrayed her to the templars.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed her and Malcolm Hawke to Ser Perth.

Fenris had betrayed her and the Fog Warriors to Danarius.

And it was a friend's betrayal that had resulted in her recent capture by the templars, and getting thrown into this stinking pit of darkness to deteriorate and wither away until she died.

Ember's blue-green eyes flashed with an internal fire that matched the wildly flaming curls that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. She'd been captured and caged like a wild animal for her crime of being an apostate – a creature cursed by the Maker in the eyes of the templars.

Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ground painfully against each other. The templars had dragged her unwillingly to the White Spire and when she fought back, as her rebellious spirit willed, they beat her. Afterward, as she'd lay beaten and bruised and bloodied on the marble floor of the foyer of the Spire, she'd cursed them, laughing maniacally while she did it. They'd beaten her again until she'd lost consciousness. She'd been awakened by their manhandling of her as they dragged her reluctantly to this horrid dungeon - a black pit from which they said she would never emerge. They'd dragged her, kicking and screaming, clawing and biting, to be locked away in this tiny cell encrusted with filth and rot all because these templars feared what she was capable of.

_And they should fear_, Ember mused darkly. _For I am capable of unimaginable things, things they couldn't even dream of._

Ember's mind came skidding to a halt as the hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She couldn't escape the feeling she was suddenly being watched. Her body tensed and instinctively her hand went to her belt for the dagger that was no longer there. Her eyes searched the gloom of her cell, meeting nothing but darkness. Someone was there. She knew it, could feel it. Her instincts were never wrong.

The shadows in front of her cell seemed darker, somehow… and she felt something within them staring at her.

"I know you're there," Ember stated in a low and stiff voice, speaking into the shadows that lined her cell.

"Come out of the shadows," she commanded firmly, the authority ringing in her voice.

For a long moment there was nothing. No sound. No air. Nothing but darkness.

Ember's eyes widened in alarm and her heart slammed against her ribcage as a tall, dark, ominous figure materialized out of the darkness right in front of her cell, seeming to emerge from the shadows themselves, as if they lived and breathed them.

Though she forced herself to appear calm, her blood had chilled with fear, her panic mounting, self-preservation instincts taking hold. Refusing to let dread overwhelm her, Ember kept her eyes locked on the figure shrouded in shadow as she lifted her hand in front of her and drew upon the Fade.

Gathering her magic, something she rarely did, Ember reached her mind across the Veil and summoned a shimmering orb of fire into the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across the walls of her cell, stretching across the stone floor to the metal bars.

It was a young man, she realized as she squinted to see into the darkness that surrounded him. He looked to be in his early twenties. Shaggy blonde locks fell over his forehead and into his eyes, causing dark shadows to slash across his sharply chiseled features, highlighting his smooth alabaster skin, harshly carved cheekbones, and long and straight nose that was in perfect conformity with the rigid line of his strong masculine jaw.

Ember's eyes raked the mysterious young man while he appeared to appraise her in return. The young man was tall, over six feet, and whipcord lean, lanky even, and built from solid muscle. Her eyes fell to his slim hips and tightly corded arms. He resembled a lean ivory statue made up of chiseled lines and sharp angles. His mouth was like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory, his skin so exquisitely white as to seem almost transparent. _He_ was almost transparent, she thought, thinking at any moment the shadows that surrounded him would swallow him whole and cloak him in complete darkness.

Ember shook herself, aware she was guilty of staring. Yet, this odd stranger held an unexplainable captivation. He was no templar or mage, she knew, since he wore no armor or robes. He wore worn leathers that looked like they badly needed washing. But there was a severe countenance to his darkly chiseled face that gave off an ominous, almost malevolent cast.

_If he isn't a mage or a templar, then who is he? _Ember thought._ What is he doing down here? Why is he standing in front of my cell? What does he want with me? _

Realizing her hand was shaking from her unsettled nerves, Ember placed the flame in front of her and it hovered just above the ground. She lifted her head to watch the young man step closer toward her, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars. With her heart knocking against her chest wall, she slowly lifted her eyes to his face and gasped softly. He was staring at her so keenly, with such unblinking intensity, she felt as though he was staring into her soul.

And his eyes… Maker… his eyes were unlike anything she'd ever seen before. They were two icy blue orbs, so pale in color they were almost translucent, but deep as forever and incredibly intense. They were… _unnatural_. Shadows filled them, lived in them, whispering for her to peer closer into them.

Haunted, haunted eyes.

A cold worm of dread coiled in her belly. It was then that she noticed that there was an elusiveness about him, even a slight chill, and a dark ripple of foreboding that caused her to immediately become on her guard. There was something dark, mysterious, and otherworldly about this man.

Something dangerous.

Something that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end in warning.

Her instincts were _never_ wrong.

The young man took another step toward her, pressing his body against the bars of her cell. Ember tensed, suddenly very aware of this stranger who seemed to emit a very palpable aura of danger, striking a fear into her heart.

"Who are you?" she managed to say despite the icy chill coating her veins.

The young man visibly tensed at her words. There was a furtive tension to the way he stood, as if he would retreat into the shadows at any second. But he didn't retreat. He just stood there, as though he didn't understand the language she spoke.

_Why isn't he saying anything? Why is he just standing there? Can he not understand me? Does he not speak my language? Or is he deaf? Perhaps he's mentally ill or unstable? _

For several heartbeats, Ember didn't know what to do or say. The silence that lingered was deafening. Unable to stand another second of the unbearable tension, she repeated, "Who are you?"

"You can see me." His voice was raspy, as if from lack of use, and it quavered with shocked disbelief.

Ember said nothing, but her eyes remained locked on his as he slowly bent down to crouch low on the balls of his feet in front of her cell. His elbows rested on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. His face was enigmatic and those abnormal eyes offered no emotion. They were simply blank slates of ice blue that stared fixated and unrelenting at her from beneath wayward strands of gilded hair.

"You _can_ see me," the young man repeated, more confidently this time.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. _Is this a trick? Some game the templars are playing with me? _Warily, Ember moved on her hands and knees closer to the bars, closer to him. The floating flame she'd cast followed in her wake, as if pulled by some invisible thread. She tried not to let it get to her, but it unnerved her how his eyes closely followed her every move.

Ember swallowed hard as she sat cross-legged in front of the bars of her cell. Her heart leaped into her throat and she pulled back as the young man suddenly pressed his face into the bars as if he were straining to get closer to her, like a feral wolf that had caught the scent of something he liked.

His eyes caught how she shrank away from him and his head tilted, blonde bangs falling over one eye and revealing the other. "Are you afraid of me?"

She was a little at that, which was odd because there was little she was afraid of. But this man… there was something about him that was… _scary_.

"Do I scare you?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts, while he moved to sit on his knees, his long fingers flexing on the bars.

Ember met his eyes that were so deep they seemed like bottomless blue wells reaching into his very soul.

They were not ordinary eyes.

Not human.

Not of this world.

His eyes belonged to something else, somewhere else…

_Is this man real? Does he even exist? _

His face pressed further into the metal bars, straining to get closer. "What is your name?"

Maker, even the rich darkness of his voice was inhuman.

"_What_ are you?" she breathed, her voice a mere wisp of sound.

His expression shuttered. "I don't know what I am."

Her heart came to a stuttering stop with dismay. "What do you mean you don't know what you are?"

Silence split the air. He said not a word, but he kept those eerie, impenetrable eyes keenly focused on her, unwavering and unblinking. His inscrutable countenance gave little away, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

She swallowed hard, her apprehension rising. "Are you here to hurt me?"

The young man said nothing, though his eyes flickered to the side, as if he were debating it.

Panic rose up to choke her. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling tremors of anxiety twisting within her stomach as she became aware of the peril she'd inadvertently stepped into. She couldn't be sure of his intent. His eyes, like his expression, were inscrutable.

"No," he rasped softly after a long pause. "I won't hurt you."

She exhaled a shaky breath of relief and averted her gaze.

She felt much better when she wasn't looking in those eyes.

"Will you help me escape, then?" She refused to let her hope enter her voice.

"No."

Her eyes snapped to his and narrowed. "And why not?"

Long pale fingers tapped the lock. "This door can only be opened with a key – a key the Knight-Captain keeps on her at all times."

"Lovely," Ember deadpanned, brushing a spiraling red curl from her face with a huff. "Can you lift the key from the Knight-Captain?"

He shook his head and his blonde bangs whipped side to side across his forehead and eyes. "Evangeline de Brassard will not be easily deceived. She's attentive. She would know."

The blonde shifted from his knees to sit on the ground, cross-legged like her. He sat right in front of her, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. They were close, his right knee almost touching hers through the bars. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her, pushing back the blackness that threatened to consume them both.

His head tilted, eyes glittering with intrigue in the light the flame cast. "What's your name?" He asked in a quiet, scratchy whisper.

"Ember," she answered softly. "Ember Laurent."

"Ember." He said her name slowly, as if testing it on his tongue, and the rasping syllables caused a warm tingle of something nameless to trickle down her back.

Unnerved by her reaction to the sound of her own name coming from his lips, Ember lifted her chin and forced her voice to come out even, "You are no mage, nor are you a templar." It was not a question.

"I am neither," he confirmed.

She nodded slowly, her fingers drumming on her knees as she thought. "If you are not a mage and not a templar, then what are you doing down here?"

He hesitated, as if considering whether to answer her or not. "I live in the catacombs beneath the tower," he answered finally.

Her eyebrows pulled together. "But what are you doing here in the dungeons?"

He said nothing, but his eyes shifted away from hers, as if in shame. "I come here sometimes," he replied in a low voice, keeping his gaze from hers. "I visit the tower sometimes for food and other things. I like to watch them - the mages and the templars."

One red eyebrow lifted in question. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"No." His pale eyes shifted back to hers, watching her from beneath his blonde bangs. "They never see me, never remember me."

Her face pinched with confusion and unease. His answer was strange, very strange, just like him.

"Who are you?" There was a tremor in her voice that revealed the fear she felt.

For a moment he froze, his dark lashes lowering to half mast his crystal clear blue eyes. "I am the Ghost of the Spire." The words came out like a confession and he watched her closely, as if scrutinizing her reaction.

Ember rolled her blue-green eyes. "There's no such thing as ghosts," she scoffed.

He shrugged carelessly. "A ghost is simply a dead man lost on his way to the Maker's side, forever adrift in a land of shadow," he answered simply.

She snorted. "And… that's what you are? You're… _dead_?" Ember murmured with incredulity. Curious despite herself, Ember gripped a metal bar in one hand and she pressed herself against the bars as she reached forward through the bars with her other hand to touch him. She expected her hand to go straight through him, expecting him to be the apparition he claimed to be.

But it didn't.

Her palm pressed flat against his chest, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his worn leathers, was a warm torso that was a amalgam of sharp angles and sinewy muscle. She licked her suddenly dry lips as she felt hard muscles flex beneath her fingertips, felt the danger and dormant strength he possessed. Power emanated from him like a life force, raw and uncut.

"Death would explain what I am." Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low, husky murmur so close to her ear, his warm breath licking the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Ember instantly ripped her hand away from his rock-hard chest as if she'd been burned, leaning back from the bars. With her cheeks roasting, she swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat, her response to merely touching him unsettling.

Ember quickly folded her arms in a defensive gesture, trying to hide the rapid beat of her heart, scowling at him as he continued to stare at her coolly, clearly not affected by her touch like she'd been. "You're not dead," she stated firmly, almost accusingly. "You're made of flesh and bone. Just like me."

His eyes were remote and shadowed. "I'm not dead, yet at the same time I don't exist."

She eyed him as if he'd grown two heads. "Are you… a crazy person?"

The slightest quirk of his mouth told her that she amused him. "I don't know." He turned his body slightly away from her, the quirk deepening. "Maybe."

As she studied his side profile a fearful tremble worked its way down her spine as a terrible thought hit her, a thought that scared the blood out of her. "Are you a… demon?"

He paused. After a few heartbeats, his chin turned fractionally toward her, his heavy-lidded eyes piercing into her. "I am no demon." He faced her again and his low hanging blonde bangs fell across his eyes, shielding them from her view. "I've never seen one before or spoken to one, that I know of. And unless someone can be a demon and have no inkling of it, that just isn't possible. A ghost, however?" He sighed softly as he tossed his moppish flaxen hair with an unsteady hand. "That I'm not so certain of."

Ember watched him, considering, assessing. After a few silent moments, her body visibly relaxed and a small smile curved her lips. "I believe you."

Her gave her a pointed look, one that held a hint of admonishment. "So easily?"

"You're not a demon," Ember stated confidently. "I can sense spirits. I would know the difference."

"Would you?" he inquired, curious. "Demons are masters of deception."

Her chin lifted, scarlet unruly curls framing her face. "I'm a spirit medium. I would know if you were lying," she replied assuredly. "I can sense spirits and demons, and I don't sense you as such."

Despite her words, Ember bit her bottom lip in discomfort. Could she trust this man? Was he a clever demon and found a way to hide his true nature from her? Could she trust in her ability to tell the difference?

Her turquoise eyes flickered up to lock onto those arresting pale blue orbs, questioning, searching. "So… if you're not a spirit and you're not a demon… then… then what are you?"

Anguish shadowed his face, and those absurdly long lashes lowered over his eyes. "Lost," he answered desolately, and his low rasping voice echoed with a deep-seated loneliness that tugged at something vulnerable inside of her.

Ember sucked in a sharp breath, her heart aching, as she stared into a tableau of heart-wrenching sadness and despairing loneliness reflected in those fathomless icy pools set in a pale, grief-stricken face curtained by long-hanging golden tresses.

Maker, she'd never seen anyone look so alone, so sad, so forlorn - a lost soul drifting amongst the living.

That harrowing expression was hard to look at and Ember had to close her eyes to escape it. She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. When her eyes opened, he was gone, as if swallowed up by the shadows.

Ember stared blankly into the darkness in front of her cell and was about to call out to him when she realized she didn't even know his name.

**Author's Note**: In the book Dragon Age: Asunder, Rhys is the main character along with Cole. Rhys is the estranged mage son of the Fereldan senior enchanter Wynne from Dragon Age Origins. Rhys is a Spirit Medium, someone who can sense spirits and demons. This ability allows him to see and remember Cole. My Inquisitor has the same gift. Oh, and just to give you a visual, Ember looks like Merida from the Disney movie Brave, except that she has more green in her eyes and her hair is a dark red and not orange. Oh, just a random thought, I think Cole looks like the actor Evan Peters from the TV show American Horror Story.


	3. Chapter 3 - Hunger Pains

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 3 – Hunger Pains**

_For you are the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only yours to give_

_- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

The White Spire Tower was magnificently built with stone and marble, decorated in typical Orlesian style, in ostentation of Orlais' wealth, consisting of lush crimson carpeting and adorned with tapestry of gold, crimson, and velvet. There were many levels in the great tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces, the scent of magic and parchment in the air along with the stench of oppression. The tower was swarming with people. It was always swarming with people. The sounds of laughter, debate, lessons being taught, and spells being cast echoed throughout the halls.

The first few floors of the tower's lower chambers were typical for any Circle Tower. There was a great hall, mage and templar quarters, a harrowing chamber, studies, classrooms, multiple libraries, and kitchen stores. There were also armories, giant chambers filled with enough equipment and weapons to outfit an army of templars.

Cole moved unnoticed and unseen through the shadows of the lower chambers. Both mages and templars alike moved unconsciously out of his path, as if instinctively threatened by what was approaching. They were unaware of his presence, yet subconsciously they could detect the approaching danger that lurked in the shadows. The rogue kept to the shadows that hugged him like a mother reunited with her child, wrapping around him and cloaking him in their darkness. It was… comforting. Familiar.

Whispers of lyrics echoed in his head as he moved through the crowd of people and he shoved them away, not wanting to listen to them. The whispers were louder up here. That was one of the reasons why he rarely came up here, preferring the silence the bowels of the tower provided.

A young elven girl walked by, a terrible black and blue bruise surrounding her right eye. The girl winced as she gently touched and inspected her injured eye.

_Throbbing. Aching. Hard to see out of it. I didn't know. They looked so good. I didn't know they were only for the templars. They smelled so good. Just like __Mamae __used to make. Oatmeal and raisin, my favorite. They reminded me of home, of the Dalish. It hurts. I didn't know. I wouldn't have eaten one if I'd have known mages weren't allowed to have them. _

Cole shoved the whispers back, not wanting to hear them. After a few more steps, a templar walked by, rubbing the back of his neck and cringing.

_Cold sweat. Head pounding. Itchy. Hard to breathe. Shaking. I just need a taste, just a taste to get me through the day. What good are the dwarves if they don't deliver the lyrium on time?_

Cole could sense a person's pain, hear it. It was like listening to a very sad song. It had surprised him yesterday to discover that he couldn't hear Ember's pain. Whether it was because she had none or because he somehow couldn't hear her song, he didn't know.

Sleep had evaded him last night. His nerves had been too rattled, his mind racing with too many thoughts, questions refusing to leave him alone. And when sleep finally found him, it was her that he saw. The girl. The girl that _saw_ him.

The encounter had left him shaken and confused, but also curious and utterly intrigued. He didn't know how she saw him. Only people in unimaginable pain or wanting death could see him. She was neither, and yet she could see him. Perhaps her being a spirit medium had something to do with it. All he knew was that she could actually _see_ him. The excitement he felt was unlike anything he'd ever felt.

The question now was whether Ember would remember him. No one remembered him. The few that actually saw him only remembered him for a day or two. Eventually they forgot him. They always did. Would Ember forget him too?

His stomach dropped at the thought. He didn't _want_ her to forget him. Cole found himself surprised by how desperately he wanted her to remember him. She was a mystery, a wonderful mystery that had sun-kissed skin that was dusted with light freckles, a radiant smile, a friendly face that was all eyes and ruby lips framed by blood-red curls - his favorite color. She was the brightest thing he'd ever seen. She had sparked a fascination in him that he knew would not go away. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him.

Her face appeared in his mind's eyes and Cole realized that it would hurt to see her looking at him with her face and eyes glazed over with non-recognition. Now, after meeting her, Cole realized he wanted companionship, and in a way, he almost craved it. She burned like a beacon, one he could not resist.

Cole moved purposefully now, impatient to return to the dungeons, somewhat startled by how badly he wanted to see the girl again. He wanted to see recognition in her eyes as she looked at _him_, wanted to hear her voice as she spoke to _him_, wanted to feel the whisper of the soothing magic she exuded as it caressed his skin. He found it strange that just thinking of her made his pulse pound in eagerness. The only thing that had a similar effect was when he went to the dungeons to use his knife to free a mage from their pain.

A small explosion pulled Cole from his thoughts. A senior enchanter quickly doused the resulting fire with a Winter Grasp spell. Once the fire was put out, the senior enchanter began scolding her young apprentice who couldn't have been older than ten-years-old.

As ever, Cole felt the darkness living and breathing within him. It seethed in his mind, dancing against the back of his eyes. Just waiting for him to call it forth… and to devour him. There was power in the darkness. If he would just give in to it…

No. He would never dare to use the full measure of that power.

Still, the darkness seemed to hover, waiting, taunting. His dagger cleared its sheath before he realized he'd drawn it. He could hear the siren's call, a mage's pain calling out to him to silence it forever. His body began to tremble with the need to use the knife to set them free. Their death would cease their pain and their blood would ensure his continued existence, he was sure of it.

Cole's knuckles turned white around the hilt of his blade as he suppressed the urge to give into the darkness, keeping it from overwhelming him.

He didn't want to lose himself forever.

Cole shook himself and sheathed his dagger. He continued on his way, heading for the kitchen stores. He slipped into a storage room that was full of elven servants bustling about, preparing meals. Cole searched the shelves, unseen in a room full of people. His arm brushed the elbow of a young elven boy and the boy stopped and looked right at him, but the boy saw straight through him. The boy's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he rubbed his elbow, eyes searching but seeing nothing. The boy shrugged and continued with his task.

Cole returned to his task and searched the shelves. Once he found what he was looking for, he headed out. Weaving around the marble columns lining the hall, Cole saw a large fountain in the corner of the large room. The fountain threw up water, covered with a gilt symbol of the Circle of Magi, on the top of which is a statue of the Sword of Mercy – the Templar heraldry that is a stylized representation of a flaming sword – supported by columns of black and white marble. It was meant to serve as a reminder that magic exists to serve mankind, and not to rule over him.

As he drew closer, Cole discovered an old man and a middle-aged woman talking in whispers, huddled behind the fountain, a hidden corner shrouded in darkness to escape the eyes and ears of others. Cole could see them easily though. It was easy to see into something that lived inside you.

Cole recognized the old man as Edmonde, the First Enchanter of the White Spire. He was an old man in his late seventies with a baldhead, only a small band of remaining white hair circling the back of his head. He had to lean on his staff for support, his body bent by age. The woman he did not recognize. She wore a voluminous red robe and a glittering headdress. Her head was held loftily with a golden amulet of the symbol of the chantry hanging around her neck. She had a stately bearing, carrying herself in a graceful and controlled manner.

"You must pick a side," Edmonde whispered.

The woman shook her head. "I cannot take sides. We are all the Maker's creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals."

"The Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the mages have made to reach peace. We need your help, Dorothea."

The woman gave a soft laugh. "It's Justinia now." The woman smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "I've been serving as the Divine of the Chantry for two years now, Edmonde. Haven't you heard?"

The old man smiled, but it was small and sad. "Perhaps you could speak with the Knight-Commander and Lord Seeker Lambert while you're here," the First Enchanter whispered. "They won't listen to me, but perhaps you could make them see reason." The old man sighed wearily. "The templars cannot squeeze the mages into a smaller and smaller box and hope they will disappear."

"The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in his hand. She is a gentle mother, who knows that her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."

"Can we afford to be so idealistic, your Holiness?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Idealism is our stock in trade, Edmonde. A religion without ideals is tyranny."

He exhaled heavily. "I spoke with your Right Hand about her recent trip to Kirkwall," he replied. "Sister Nightingale spoke with Grand Cleric Elthina. Elthina seems to think the mage-templar situation in Kirkwall is under control with the help of the Champion, but Sister Nightingale does not seem to think so."

"I have faith in Grand Cleric Elthina," she answered. "We must place our trust in the Maker that Elthina will be able to keep peace in Kirkwall."

Edmonde's bushy white eyebrows snapped together. "And how will she be able to do that if she's dead?" he shot back. "Leliana was attacked by resolutionist blood mages in the Chantry. They grow bolder. It shows the mages in Kirkwall think nothing will be accomplished unless they fight for it. Grand Cleric Elthina is not safe in Kirkwall."

"There is no greater devotion than to lay one's life at the Maker's feet. There is no better death than to take the blow for another."

"But Elthina's death will only end in madness. The Circle of Magi in Kirkwall will most likely rebel. The templars will see their rebellion as a challenge to their authority. A mage rebellion will spark unrest in every circle across Thedas. It would plunge the world into war."

"You give me a lesson when I don't need one," she replied quietly, but firmly. "I am sworn to the Maker's service, but that does not mean I am ignorant of the world."

"Perhaps an Exalted March on Kirkwall is necessary. It might prevent war between the mages and the templars."

"I agree that order must be kept. If there is to be peace, it cannot be accomplished through threats and demands. The lives of many more than just the mages and the templars are at stake."

"I fear that we stand upon the precipice of chaos. The world looks to us for guidance and protection as it fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss."

"We should not allow fear to cloud our reason," she answered softly, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Come. Let us get back to the evening's festivities. I am the guest of honor tonight, am I not? I think…"

Cole didn't hear anymore as he had moved out of hearing range. He left the tower's lower chambers with his prize, traveling downward through the archives. He continued downward, down the rickety stairwells that led to ancient storerooms that were filled with dust and strange-looking relics. There was also a great mausoleum that stood as silent testament to templars who had died centuries ago. Cole followed the dark tunnels that seemed to go in circles to the area that lay at its heart. The dungeons were there. And so was she.

Unconsciously, his pace quickened, his anticipation mounting as he drew closer to the girl who was unlike any other.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember sat on the cold, wet stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the wall. The small flame she'd summoned from the Fade hovered above the ground beside her, offering a small amount of light and warmth that was a small comfort in this otherwise dark and dismal place.

Her stomach growled painfully, her lips chapped and cracked from dehydration. The templars hadn't even fed her since they'd captured her over a week ago. Her stomach growled again and she winced. She'd never been so hungry. Her stomach curled in on itself as if desperately searching the emptiness there. She felt weak as well. The hunger she could live with, but the weakness scared her. It would slow her down if she was ever given the opportunity to escape or forced to defend herself against the templars, that one named André in particular.

Another sharp pang of hunger hit her and her hand went instinctively to her stomach, her face grimacing. Maker's breath, she didn't want to die like this - starving to death in a black and empty pit, completely and utterly alone, with not a single person in the entire world to mourn her passing.

Ember felt a wave of loneliness. Other than the one who'd betrayed her, she couldn't think of her last friend. The Hawke family and the Fog Warriors perhaps, but she hadn't seen either in so long. She preferred to go about life unnoticed and unseen in order to avoid the templars, avoid being locked away. Though it did have its drawbacks. No one would remember her. No one would go looking for her. She would die down here and no one would know, no one would care. Maker, how long had she allowed fear, desperation, and loneliness to drive her? Feed her? Keep her alive and free, yet alone and isolated from the rest of the world?

Ember stared desolately at the moldy cell wall, her expression glum, her blue-green eyes dull and weary, her red curls seemingly less vibrant. She felt rotten with misery. Her mouth was dry, her tongue huge. She felt like a raisin left to dry on a windowsill.

The hours crawled by endlessly. She exhaled heavily in boredom, her breath blowing a bright red curl out of her face. She looked down and curled her finger around a long crimson curl before letting it unravel to her stomach, then repeating the move over and over again. She knew she wasn't a pretty girl, at least not in the common way. Eye-catching was perhaps a more appropriate description for her, mostly due to her hair color. At eighteen, she wasn't very womanly, and probably never would be. She had small breasts and small hips that gave her a youthful figure, and hard muscle from years of living on her own and struggling to survive. Her hair was the one feature about her that was pretty and feminine, and she adored her long red curls.

Once during the four years she'd lived with the Hawke family, Carver had told her that her hair was the prettiest thing about her. He said that she would break his heart if she ever cut it. Unaccustomed to being complimented by boys, unlike Marian, Ember had blushed a bright red at his words and hadn't cut her hair since.

Ember looked up at the stone ceiling wishing she could see the stars. She'd been sleeping under the stars since her eighth birthday when she was forced to live alone and on the run from the templars. Those days she'd felt small, inadequate, scared, and alone.

She felt that way again now.

She hated it.

Here, in the cold and the dark and the nothingness, Ember felt herself slipping. It wasn't right her being there. Her spirit was too wild, her nature to unruly to be locked in a cell away from the stars, the sunshine, open spaces and fresh air. It wasn't right to lose her freedom, the one thing that meant everything to her.

If she wasn't able to escape this time, would there be nothing left to do but wait for the inevitable? Would it be a hangman's noose, a chopping block, or the Right of Tranquility? A cold shiver trickled down her spine at the thought of being made Tranquil. Her vote was for the chopping black. That would get her close enough to a weapon to take and then make her escape.

The hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She felt she was being watched. Her head snapped to the side and her gaze landed on a tall, dark figure standing in front of her cell. Her eyes widened.

_It's him_.

Her mouth became dry and she could hear nothing but the hammering of her heart.

_The Ghost of the Spire_.

In the dim light, the young man stood still as a statue, his lean-muscled frame looking sleek and powerful beneath the dirty leathers he wore. He was staring at her, intently, with those haunted eyes from under that mop of unkempt blonde hair that fell across his forehead, highlighting the hard planes of his face. The shadows shifted around him, as if frightened by his presence, making him appear infinitely dangerous.

There was a danger to him she couldn't ignore. But then she remembered talking to him before. It would be nice to talk to someone. Actually, it would be heavenly to talk to someone.

"It's you," she breathed.

He said nothing. Unreadable pale blue eyes surveyed her from beneath his bangs. Ember met his stare, forcing herself not to look away despite the unsettling intensity she found there. Those eyes unnerved her. _He_ unnerved her.

"You can blink once in a while. I'll still be here," she muttered, shifting on the ground uncomfortably.

"You can see me." His voice had a particular rasp—the hoarseness of a man who rarely speaks.

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Didn't we have this conversation already?"

"You… remember me?" he asked quietly with shocked disbelief. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to see me again, afraid you'd have forgotten me."

Her lips curled. "I doubt anyone who has ever met you could simply forget you. I know I sure won't," she admitted, then cleared her throat in embarrassment.

He held her gaze for a long second, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile, transforming his face. That smile was so devastatingly attractive that it made her heart lurch. Ember took a deep breath in an effort at calm. "So… why did you think I'd forget about you?"

"Because no one can see me or remember me." His blue eyes flickered upward and locked onto hers from beneath blonde bangs. "Except you."

Ember licked her suddenly dry lips, her breathing quickening as she watched him watching her with all of that focused and unwavering intensity. "O-Oh," she stammered and quickly cleared her throat. "Does that make me special?"

His eyes lit with some emotion Ember couldn't define. He dropped his gaze from her face and raked her body starting from the tips of her toes. She felt his gaze stop for a long moment at her neck, on her rapidly increasing pulse, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Yes," he answered, those icy blue pools pouring into her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was looking at her so intently, with such unblinking fervor, she felt as though he were reading her mind.

She frowned and looked away.

"You haven't eaten," she heard him say after a long and silent pause and there was genuine concern in his voice, which surprised her. He didn't even know her.

She turned to look at him. "It seems feeding me was at the bottom of the templars' list today. I think it's right after they give the mages massages."

"I have something for you," he said as he lowered himself to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "For me?"

He nodded. While he reached into a pack that he'd set on the ground beside him, Ember moved closer to the bars and sat cross-legged in front of him. "What is it?" she asked, curious.

He pulled a red handkerchief out of the pack and handed it to her through the bars. She opened it to find it filled with meat, cheese, and bread.

For a long moment all she could do was stare at the deliciously smelling food in disbelief. He'd gotten this for her? He'd risked being seen and captured by the templars to get her something to eat?

When her mouth could once again form words, her eyes slowly lifted to his. "You… you got this… for me?"

He smiled at her and there was a slight reddening to the paleness of his cheeks. "You're stomach should be as full as your heart," he answered. "In which case, I would have brought more but they would have noticed."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just eat."

Not having to be told twice, Ember began to eat the delicious food he'd brought her and her eyes rolled back in her head at how good it tasted. As she chewed she heard herself moan in delight and was embarrassed at the sound.

"I spoke to your cell," he said casually. "I asked it to open. But it didn't say anything. I don't think it likes me."

Ember paused in her eating to stare at him. He was a strange one, there was no denying that, and a strange darkness clung to him, was a part of him, that frightened her. Yet, Ember couldn't help but find him fascinating. She also couldn't help but find him kind, considerate, intriguing, and attractive with his golden hair flopping messily across his forehead to hang into his eyes in an entirely rakish manner. Not to mention how his depthless blue eyes and raspy voice were doing funny things to her insides, things she'd never felt before.

Once she finished eating she took the canteen he offered her and drank every last drop of the water inside. She sighed with content as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rubbed her nose with her hand, then looked up at him to find him staring at her. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You have no idea how hungry I was."

His expression shuttered. "It's painful. The hunger. No one should feel that kind of hurt."

"Have you?"

He didn't say anything.

After a long stretch of silence, she said honestly, "I'm surprised you returned."

For some reason that seemed to make him think. His eyes looked around before returning to her. "This place is full of old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real."

"Then why did you come back?"

Unyielding, his gaze captured hers in a long glance. "The brightest star in the darkest sky is the most luring."

Ember didn't understand his answer, but she did feel the air suddenly become charged with inexplicable tension, a tension that she was hard-pressed to understand. She could feel a faint stirring deep inside her, a fluttering little pulse that seemed to intensify with each throbbing second. He made her feel as though she couldn't catch her breath.

"Most people fear the White Spire Tower, especially the dungeons," she managed to say into the silence. "Anything to do with magic stirs people's fear."

"Magic doesn't stir my fear."

"No?"

"Magic whispers things to me - music in the mind of strange, far away places."

"You shouldn't fear my magic," she assured him. "I rarely use it, and when I do, my magic serves only that which is best in me, not that which is most base."

His mouth lifted in one corner. "The templars wouldn't be so angry all the time if more mages were like you."

She laughed at that. "On the contrary, they would be furious _all_ the time. I have a sharp tongue that I forget to curb most of the time, which typically gets me into trouble. If more mages were like me, the templars would be using a Silence for more than just cleansing."

He laughed and so did she, and for a moment they shared a flash of something between them. Friendship, Ember thought. She found herself hoping that were true. She didn't have any friends. It would be nice to have one, especially here.

"It's good to spend time with you," he said quietly with a shy smile.

"It's good to spend time with you too," she answered just as shyly.

The silence pulsed for a beat or two.

"Bye," he said awkwardly before standing and dusting himself off.

Ember blinked in surprise before jumping to her feet. He turned to leave, but she caught his hand through the bars. The moment she touched him, she knew she shouldn't have. The very second she touched him, he turned those eyes on her, looking at her in a way that made her step away from him.

"Don't go," she whispered, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. "Stay with me. Talk to me." There was sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and pleading.

He said nothing. He just stood there like an ivory statue, silently staring at her.

"Please… just for a little while?" she asked softly, hating how desperate and vulnerable she sounded.

For several heartbeats, Ember waited for him to answer. When he didn't, she folded her arms and averted her gaze to stare at the stone wall, utterly mortified at having to beg for a scrap of camaraderie. "I just… I _hate_ this place. I hate being surrounded by stone. I hate not sleeping under the stars. I hate having nothing to do but wait for a fate they're deciding for me. I hate being locked away for simply being who I am, exactly as the Maker made me. I hate…" She exhaled sharply, blowing a long red curl out of her face before finding his eyes. "I don't want to be alone."

"Neither do I," he answered in a low voice that rippled with a loneliness she felt within herself. He lowered himself back to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of her cell.

Ember smiled, relief washing through her at not having to be down in this dark pit all alone. She sat cross-legged on the ground again in front of him, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her.

Her fingers drummed nervously on her knees as they sat in silence, staring at one another. "So…" Her voice cracked and she cleared it. "I told you my name. Why don't you tell me yours?"

He dropped his blonde head and looked at her from under long black lashes. "Cole." His voice was low and hoarse and gentle. The sound of his name made her palms grow warm.

"Cole…" she said his name slowly and he smiled, as if he liked the way she said his name. "Well, Cole, it's very nice to meet you. Though, I must say, this is not a very nice place to meet."

His lips curved up slightly in the corners at that, the beat of her heart reacting oddly to the sight of it.

She bit her bottom lip nervously. "So, tell me, how did you come to be in this place, Cole?"

Cole was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his eyes were somber, tormented. "I arrived in terror. I was dragged through the halls by a templar's rough hands, terrified and bleeding." He paused, as if to collect himself. "I was dragged down here, just like you, to the dungeons. The templars locked me in a cell for the crime of being a mage." Cole hesitated. "There were beatings, worse than beatings. '_If you tell anyone, I'll say you used blood magic_'."

"Maker's breath…" she gasped, her heart twisting.

"After what felt like a lifetime of being alone, in the dark and the nothingness, with the rats nibbling at my bruised and bloodied flesh, I prayed over and over again to the Maker for the templars to forget I even existed." He bent his head to hide his eyes, but she could see his pain, felt it herself. "And then… I got my wish. That's exactly what they did."

"You became… invisible?"

He took a moment before answering. "I don't know what I became. But everyone simply… forgot about me."

"When did this happen?"

He shook his head, silky blonde hair moving across his face. "I don't remember when."

Her head tilted. "How did you get out of your cell?"

His eyebrows bunched together, as if he was trying to remember. "I don't remember how I got out."

"Can you still wield magic?"

"No. I… I don't know why not."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"I remember very little." Cole raked restless fingers through his golden hair and shot her a dark, brooding look from under his lashes. "Maybe I am a ghost. Maybe I died there in the darkness, and have simply forgotten how it happened."

"But… but you are no apparition. You are _real_." Her hand pressed against his chest through the bars to demonstrate her point, and Cole's muscles tightened and clenched under her touch. The contact did strange things to her, and she suddenly felt a tingling awareness of his undeniable masculinity.

"You are warm," she said softly. Her hand slid up his chest to curve around the side of his neck, her fingers pressing against the pulse that was beating there, wildly, almost in tandem with her own racing heart. "You have a pulse."

Her hand trailed slowly down the side of his neck to his collarbone then down the center of his chest to rest over his heart that was hammering wildly against her palm. "You have a heart and it beats within your chest." Her eyes looked up at him and uttered firmly, "You are _alive_."

His eyes lifted to lock onto hers from beneath his bangs, blue eyes penetrating, stripping her bare, as if trying to read her every thought, her very soul.

Suddenly aware that she was still touching him, Ember yanked her hand away from his chest. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she clasped her hands together and pressed them against her stomach, staring down at them. She brought her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. "Maybe… maybe you're a mage who took a spirit into himself?"

"You think I'm possessed by a demon?" When he spoke, there was anger in his voice.

Her head shot up in alarm. "No! Not a demon," she replied urgently. She ran a hand over her red curls, searching for the right words to explain herself. "There was a mage named Wynne who fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden. She almost died in the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold, but a spirit came and saved her. The spirit resides in her and keeps her alive. Maybe… maybe you were taken down here and when death came for you, a spirit saved you too."

There was a long pause before he finally spoke. "Is that what you think I am?"

"Yes. I don't think you're dead. I don't think you're a ghost. I think you're alive. I think you have a special ability that you simply don't understand and haven't mastered yet."

Ember peeked at him sideways from under her lashes, wondering what he thought of that. But Cole wasn't looking at her, he was staring reflectively off to the side, deep in thought.

"Pulled from the Fade and trapped within, or stepped out from the Fade and copied?" he muttered to himself. His eyes flickered to hers. "Which I am, I do not know."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "You are quite unsettling at times."

Cole's head suddenly shot up, his body alert and tense. "Templars are coming."

"What?" she gasped in alarm.

"They are coming for him." Cole's eyes suddenly shifted to a cell down the long hallway. "They think he's starving and dying, begging and bloody. Surprise will greet them. He is already free."

Before she could ask him what he meant, the heavy metal door at the other end of the hallway opened and four templars came walking into the dungeons.

"Cole, you need to hide," she whispered urgently. "If they see you, they will kill you."

"They won't see me," he replied calmly, no trace of fear.

"Cole, listen to me. You have to hide. _Now_. Please, I don't want to see you get hurt," she said firmly, fear in her voice, trying desperately to get him to see reason.

"Vanquish your flame," Cole ordered. "They cannot know the bars do not deplete you of your mana. You will no doubt be made Tranquil."

Ember did as he commanded but before she could try to convince Cole to hide, the templars were approaching.

"This way, boys. The corpse is in the cell at the end of the hall. Just follow the stench," she heard one templar say to the others.

Ember watched as Cole pressed his back against the metal bars of the cell across from hers, his eyes fixed on the templars that were drawing closer.

Ember held her breath. The hallway wasn't very narrow, but Cole was standing right there. It may be dark, but it wasn't that dark. Maker, they were going to see him. They were going to see him and they were going to kill him.

_Maker, please don't let any harm come to him_, she prayed. _Please… please don't let them hurt him. _

The templars drew impossibly close. Cole stayed where he was. Ember nervously held her breath as they kept coming closer and closer. When they reached Cole, however, they walked right passed him, completely oblivious to him, even though he was standing right in front of them, inches away.

Ember blinked. She couldn't believe it. How could they not see him? She realized then that Cole had been telling the truth about himself, despite how crazy it sounded.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't the little she-devil," a voice sneered beside her.

Ember turned her gaze from Cole to the short templar with the long brown hair standing in front of her cell.

André.

The templar smiled cruelly at her. "You don't look so fierce now that your caged."

Ember waved a hand in front of her face with a look of disgust. "I'm just going to assume that something died in your mouth."

His smug look vanished. "You're one to talk." His eyes raked her with contempt. "Why do I even bother? You're no looker."

She snorted. "Speak for yourself. At least I'm no lyrium-swilling, manskirt-wearing bastard like you."

His face contorted with rage. "You know what I do to little mage bitches like you?"

Her eyes rolled. "Oh, the suspense is killing me."

"I teach them a lesson. A lesson they never forget."

"I await with bated breath," she deadpanned.

His anger was instantly replaced with a look of cruelty, the likes of which she'd never seen before. He lifted the baton in his hand and looked at it with an expression on his face that made her sick to her stomach. "You see this? I'm going to beat you nearly to death with it, and then…" Pitch-black eyes met hers. "…and then I'll take from you whatever I want."

Over the templar's shoulder, Ember watched as Cole's pale blue eyes locked onto André, dark and glittering and intense. Corded muscles bunched beneath his tattered leathers, murderous intensions stealing over his face. The aura he carried was deadly and powerful, and Ember wondered how the templars couldn't feel it when it seemed to take up the space around him, pulsing like a dark, foreboding cloud of energy.

"And if you still resist me… well, you won't be able to do that once you're made Tranquil. The Tranquil don't say no to anything."

Blue-green orbs shifted back to the templar, hard and cutting. "You lay one hand on me and I'll rip it off," she promised in a low and menacing voice, refusing to show the fear she felt.

Onyx eyes warred with aquamarine. She straightened her shoulders. She was not going to let this templar frighten her.

"André, let's go," one templar called, irritated with the delay.

André's jaw worked before he spun on his heel and stalked away toward the other templars.

Ember opened her mouth. She knew she shouldn't say it. She knew it would be the absolute worst thing to say, especially since she was still so weak from hunger and dehydration and was unable to draw upon her magic to defend herself. But the words were falling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "That's what I thought, you little slack-jawed coward."

The next thing she felt was a hard blow to the side of her head. Ember fell to the ground, hard, her skull slamming painfully against the stone floor, a loud crack resonating from the impact.

Ember groaned against the grimy stone floor. It was difficult focusing on anything other than the incredible pain searing through her temple, let alone trying to stand and fight back, or summon her mana despite the mana draining bars that surrounded her. Her thoughts were racing through her brain in a jumbled kaleidoscope, and her body felt like it was moving underwater. Her ears thrummed with a loud buzzing and Ember forced herself to breathe deeply to keep the panic from setting in as she heard the cell door open with a loud creak.

"You're going to be sorry for saying that," André spat hatefully down at her as he stood over her. "So sorry you won't be able to walk straight for a month."

His hands were on her then, yanking her to him, pulling at her clothes. Terror-stricken, Ember screamed and thrashed back and forth on the ground, kicking wildly, twisting and lurching from side to side to get away from him.

"We don't have time for this, André," one of the other templars hissed.

"Get your filthy hands off of me, you blighted, ball-less prick!" Ember screamed, kicking wildly at any part of him she could reach while he tried to catch her flailing legs.

"Hold still, ya bitch!" the brute's gritty-edged voice barked down at her.

Ember fought with all her might despite the unbearable pain shooting through her temple. She was on her back, her body flailing convulsively. She kicked her legs and jerked her body. Her nails scratched at his arms like a wildcat, tearing the skin and drawing blood as she tried desperately to wrench herself free from the templar's grasp, trying to summon enough magic to unleash something awful upon him.

Cole appeared impossibly behind André, as if out of thin air. The wicked looking blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness a second before Cole lifted it and brought it down in a smooth downward strike. The tip of Cole's dagger exploded out the front of the templar's armored shoulder, blood spraying. Mouth open, his jaw hanging slack in shock, André toppled forward face-first to the ground and Ember rolled sideways at the last second to avoid him landing on her.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" One templar exclaimed in fright. They were all searching frantically, trying to find the attacker but saw nothing and no one.

"Andraste's great flaming ass!" Another templar cried, terrified. "How the hell did that happen?!"

"Did you see anything?!"

"No!"

"I-It's… it's the Ghost of the Spire!" The third templar cried, trembling with fear.

"We have to get out of here!"

The templars collected André and locked her in her cell again before they ran as fast as they could down the hallway, as if the devil himself were chasing them.

Wide-eyed Ember stared up at Cole from where she lay sprawled on the cold ground. He was standing in front of her cell, staring after the templars. His body was taut, his hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white around his blood-soaked blade, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

Silence settled heavy on them, nearly suffocating. The only sound was the dripping of the fresh blood off the end of his dagger onto the stone floor. Darkness coiled around him, irreparably bound to some part of him. Cole's chin turned slightly and his eyes clashed with hers from beneath wayward strands of gold, blue orbs blazing with something hard and dangerous.

He was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen.

As he looked at her, his face softened slightly to something more solemn, his eyes brooding as they searching her face. "You're afraid of me." The words were spoken slowly, quietly, carefully, the fear and remorse in them apparent. "You don't have to be."

She looked up at him, but not as far as his eyes. She avoided his unnatural eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she replied, though in truth she was. "And I'm not afraid of him either."

"You should be," he replied stiffly. "It's cold and black, slithering inside him like snakes."

"What is?"

"His hate," Cole answered sharply, jaw tight. "It's tar black inside. He hates them all because of the pain his mother gave him. Pain, old and lingering, festering. Like poison. It's turned his core black and rotten."

"André?" she asked as she managed to get to her feet. Her temple throbbed, aching, and she brought a glowing hand to her temple to heal it, barely able to summon enough mana for the very basic spell. "He hates who?"

"Women."

She shuffled across the floor to meet him at the bars. "How did you know that?"

"I listened."

"What does that mean? How did you know what he was—why are you looking at me like that?"

His eyes burned into hers and she didn't know whether he was naturally intense that way, but his ice blue orbs glowed in a way that trapped her gaze within his. His breathing met hers, heavy and hard. She could hear him swallow, could see the unnamed emotions careening around the inside of his skull, coloring his eyes, kindling something tender in their blue depths.

"I can protect you," Cole said softly as he moved closer to the bars that separated them, all fluid movement with more than a hint of promised danger beneath the surface. Those eyes didn't release hers - watched her for… something. "If templars come for you, I will kill them."

She stood close to him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat of his body, and her heart began to pound. She stared up at his intense, pale blue eyes. And when Ember looked into those eyes, she knew he wasn't lying. She'd never seen eyes like his: pale, compelling, yet frightening at the same time. His eyes showed a great sadness, complexity, and knowledge not of this world. They were dangerous eyes, not innocent ones. Lonely eyes. Haunted eyes.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was moving closer to the bars and leaning into him.

Cole's body went rigged and his eyes became wide as she stepped forward, lifting her arms. "What are you-?"

"Thanking you for saving me," she whispered, watching the various emotions pass over his eyes, his sharp cheeks, and lips as she moved in closer.

He didn't stop her as she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a friendly and consoling embrace, resting her cheek against his collarbone as best she could with the cold metal bars pressing against her face.

Cole stiffened as if he'd been snap frozen and she heard a sharp intake of breath. His body was taut with tension, marking his unease, his breathing shallow and rapid against the top of her head, which barely came up to his chin.

Ember inhaled slowly, taking the scent of him into her lungs. She could smell the leather of his armor, the dirt on his skin, and something spicy that was all his own. But the coppery scent of blood overpowered the rest, the smell so strong it clung to him like a second skin. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, and the power that seemed to vibrate from his rigid, sinewy frame. It made her feel… something… a something that was so outside anything she'd ever experienced.

Her breath caught in her throat when his lean arms lifted stiffly to encircle her completely in an awkward embrace. His arms were like steel as they pulled her to him, his grip painfully tight, his strength terrifying, the metal bars digging painfully into her body. She felt him nuzzle her hair. She heard him inhale deeply, as if trying to catch her scent. His near-panicked grip and the slight trembling of his limbs led her to wonder when anyone had even attempted to hug him last, if ever.

Emotion wound through her as she gently splayed her fingers against his lean back in an attempt to soothe him. There was an aloneness within him that mirrored her own. In that moment, she knew he felt it too. The isolation. The loneliness. He was as much in need of companionship as she was.

They stayed like that for a while, just reveling in the comfort they each provided. There was a fluttering and simultaneous squeezing in her chest that felt an awful lot like affection, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Cole's death grip loosened slightly and Ember pulled away. His fingers trailed down her bare arms as she stepped back before falling limply to his sides.

Ember looked up at him and for a moment she stopped breathing. Cole was breathing heavily, his eyes hard on hers, something darkening them in a way she'd never seen before. No man had ever looked at her as Cole was now. His eyes, usually full of shadows, were now full of… she wasn't sure what was in his eyes, but it wasn't shadows. She stepped away from him, took a few deep breaths and calmed her heart.

"Ember…" His voice wavered with a nameless emotion.

His hand lifted slowly and reached for her between the bars, as if to touch her face. Ember closed her eyes, shaken, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. She didn't move away from him. She didn't _want_ to move away from him. She lifted her head slowly, a thrum of anticipation pulsing through her. She was trembling, nervous and unsure, and there was just a hint of fear in the air. She opened her eyes.

Cole was gone.


	4. Chapter 4 - Little Talks

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 4 – Little Talks**

_My Maker, know my heart _

_Take from me a life of sorrow_

_Lift me from a world of pain_

_Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_

_- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6_

Cole visited Ember's cell daily. Everyday he returned to her. Just to talk to her. Just to hear her voice. Cole used to try and get people to notice him. They did, sometimes, but they always forgot shortly after. He would simply slip their mind completely. He kept returning to Ember's cell, expecting the same thing to happen, but it never did. She always greeted him with a smile and a whisper of his name that caused his skin to break out into goosebumps. She saw him when most couldn't, and she remembered.

Ember told him about her life. She told him about how she ran away from home when she was eight-years-old, told him about the Hawke family and how they'd saved her and taught her what it really meant to be family. She told him of her time with the Fog Warriors and how they'd been slaughtered, how she'd been the only survivor. She told him about how she'd left Seheron after that, wondering the world, becoming a vagabond. She spent her time alone, hiding, afraid to be identified as an apostate and taken by the templars. She said she'd been searching, searching for somewhere to call home, somewhere she could live unafraid of losing her freedom. She'd gone to Rivain, Antiva, the Free Marches, and even spent some time in Tevinter.

After years of living alone and on the road, she'd found herself traveling to Lothering in search of the Hawke family, in search of the companionship she'd once felt with them to ease her loneliness. At the age of fifteen, Ember had gone home to Lothering, but when she'd arrived she'd found nothing but ash. The little town had been burned to the ground during the Blight. At that time Ember had heard how the Hero of Ferelden had saved the world three years earlier, but she didn't know how badly Ferelden had suffered because of the Blight until she saw it for herself.

On her sixteenth birthday, Ember had been ambushed by darkspawn while searching the Korcari Wilds located just outside of Lothering. She'd been searching for the small cabin that had once been the home of the Hawke family when the darkspawn had attacked her. She'd almost been overwhelmed, death coming for her, when two hooded figures had saved her. The pair had killed the darkspawn that had surrounded her with a precision that was unmatched, as if they lived and breathed killing darkspawn. Once the darkspawn were eliminated, the two hooded figures had approached her. Thinking they were templars or maleficar, Ember had moved into a battle stance, no fear in her eyes as she'd stared them down, silently daring them to bring her harm or to lock her up. The pair had stopped then and removed their hoods, revealing their identities to her.

Ember had gasped, recognizing them immediately. It was Alistair Theirin, the King of Ferelden. He stood tall and proud in his Grey Warden armor, though he couldn't stop playing with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Beside him stood Elissa Cousland – The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, and the Queen of Ferelden. Ember had stared at her in awe. She was so beautiful with her perfect features, long chestnut brown hair, and deep brown eyes. Ember had kneeled, not sure what else to do, and Elissa had laughed softly, telling her to rise.

Elissa had looked Ember over, slowly, as if searching for something. After a long time, Elissa had asked Ember if she was lost. Ember had looked around her, at the Korcari Wilds that surrounded her. It had been a long time since she'd been in Lothering, but she remembered the path to Redcliffe. Ember had told Elissa that she knew where she was going. Elissa had given her a pointed look and asked again if she was lost. Ember had realized then what the Queen of Ferelden was asking her. With those all-too-seeing brown eyes on her, Ember had felt the full weight of her loneliness. Ember had almost burst into tears then when she'd answered the Hero of Ferelden, telling the older woman that she was lost, that she'd been lost for a very long time.

Elissa had nodded, as if she already knew this. The Queen of Ferelden had looked at her husband then and the two seemed to have a silent conversation, speaking only with their eyes. Alistair had shaken his head furiously and crossed his arms, as if in defiance to whatever it was she had silently said. But after a while, the King's arms fell and he nodded in resignation, as if Elissa had somehow silently convinced him of something. Elissa had smiled at Ember then and told her that she would find purpose with Sister Nightingale. The King and Queen of Ferelden had walked away then and didn't turn around, not even when Ember had called after them, asking them who Sister Nightingale was and where she could find her. Ember didn't know where they were going, but they looked like they were on a mission of some kind.

Ember had been searching for Sister Nightingale ever since, which was two years now. Ember had told Cole how she'd trusted someone to help her find Sister Nightingale and how that person had betrayed her, turning her into the templars, which resulted in her being thrown into the dungeons of the White Spire Tower.

Cole was so much enjoying visiting Ember and the feeling of warmth that always accompanied her presence. It's what drew him to her, day after day. He couldn't help himself. Ember was a talkative and open girl. She had the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen. She gladly answered almost all of his questions, unashamed of her thoughts and feelings and unafraid to share them with him. In the weeks she'd been imprisoned in the dungeons of the White Spire, Cole had visited her and learned who she was.

He knew her greatest fear was being made Tranquil. He knew her second greatest fear was losing her freedom. He knew she hated using magic and preferred using a bow or blades. He knew she trained every morning to keep herself strong. He knew she loved the feeling of sand between her toes, the feel of the wind blowing through her hair, the sun shining on her face, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. He knew she loved warm cookies when it was snowing. He knew her favorite color was red, just like him. He knew she didn't trust anyone, a result of being betrayed by everyone she'd ever trusted. He knew she wished she had a family and friends. He knew she was lonely. He knew she was lost. She was just like him in so many ways.

But it wasn't enough. Cole wanted to know more. When it came to Ember, any scrap of information was necessary. He _needed_ to know it, though he couldn't explain why. There were many things she kept to herself, saying they were too painful to speak of. He wanted to know them. He needed to know _everything_.

Cole found himself growing increasingly frustrated. Why couldn't he hear her pain like he could everyone else? He ignored the whispers of the sad songs that came from others, but with Ember, Cole found himself trying almost desperately to hear her song, to hear her pain, so that he could untangle it. Somehow he knew that if he could untangle her hurt, take away her pain, she would glow even brighter, if that were at all possible. She was like a star – bright and shining and pressing against the darkness that dwelled within him – one that he wanted to orbit around.

Cole realized that ever since he met her, he was behaving very strangely. He was feeling things and doing things he didn't understand, couldn't explain. Like the other day when he found himself trying to catch her eyes, just to stare into them. They were the most mesmerizing eyes he'd ever seen - deep sapphire blue mixed with bright vibrant emerald, the color changing with her emotions. Or when her back was turned and his eyes would take the opportunity to stare unabashedly and unseen.

One night during the beginning of Ember's fourth week at the White Spire Tower, Cole was walking in the White Spire Tower, wanting to get Ember a piece of carrot cake – her favorite – when he saw a pair of young mages huddled in a dark corner. It was a young man and woman and they were standing very close to each other, their bodies touching. Their hands were on each other, running all over. But it was what their mouths were doing that made him pause and draw closer, curious.

The entire experience had greatly disturbed Cole. It wasn't the fact that he was watching the two mages that troubled him. Cole always watched people. That was nothing new. It was _how_ he watched these two that unsettled him. Cole didn't just watch the man's mouth press against the woman's, he _studied_ it. Strangely, unexplainably, he wanted to know what they were doing. He wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know how to do it. It didn't make sense. He didn't understand. But that didn't change the fact that he still wanted to know.

Cole didn't understand what was happening to him. He was trying to understand, but he didn't. His body was reacting in a way that his mind was unable to comprehend, as if his body and mind were from two different worlds. It was confusing and overwhelming and frightening, but also wonderful and exhilarating and intriguing.

Cole shook his head as if to shake away his thoughts. He didn't want to focus too much on what she was doing to him. Cole turned the last corner and came to an abrupt halt. He stood a few feet away from Ember's cell, keeping to the dark, watching her. Ember's back was to him, pressed against the bars of her cell. Her knees were bent, her slender arms wrapped around them. She was looking up at the ceiling of her cell and he knew she was wishing she could see the stars. She did that a lot.

Cole's eyes raked her, almost greedily. His eyes flickered over her smooth sun-kissed skin, her full red lips, her narrow, fine-boned features. His eyes traveled almost reverently over the thick, heavy, untamed mass of curls that were a shocking fiery red color that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. His fingers itched to touch it. He wanted her head to turn so he could see her eyes – those blue-green orbs lined with thick charcoal lashes.

Cole thought her to be a beautiful girl. The most beautiful girl.

But it was the light shining inside of her that made her unique, made her rare, made her… _her_. In a world that appeared to him in shades of black and grey, Ember stood out among the rest. Her body was haloed with a bright white light, giving her an ethereal glow.

With a heavy sigh, Ember dropped her chin in her hand and huffed out a breath that blew the dangling blood-red curl out of her face.

Cole was enchanted.

On silent feet Cole approached her, lured by her light. The fire within her called to him, beckoned him, drew him in. And like a moth to a flame, Cole found himself moving closer to her, irresistibly impelled, as if pulled by some invisible force. The pull to her was undeniable, irresistible, and Cole wondered if this was what a magnet felt like when it met another magnet.

In that moment Cole knew, deep within himself, that he would never be able to walk away from this girl.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ember sat on the stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the metal bars. She'd stripped off her coppery chainmail armor and was now dressed in only her black cloth tunic and black tights that she wore under her armor and her black leather boots that almost reached her thighs.

She didn't know how long she'd been trapped here. She knew it was over a month, but she didn't know precisely. Once a day one of the templars brought her food and swapped out the small bucket where she relieved herself. She hadn't seen André since that one day all those weeks ago, and she was grateful for that. The other templars didn't bother her, whether it was because they were good templars, they were afraid of her, of they feared the Ghost of the Spire's wrath, she didn't know. All she knew was that she'd have gone mad by now if not for Cole.

Blue-green orbs flickered every now and then to the side to see down the long dark hallway she knew he would approach from. Ember felt jittery as she eagerly anticipated Cole's return.

Cole visited her everyday. She would sit cross-legged in front of him and he would do the same, only the metal bars separating them and the small flame she would cast as the only source of light besides the single wall sconces that lined the dark halls every few feet.

He would bring her water as well as meat, cheese, bread, and fruit that he'd stolen from the kitchens of the White Spire. He would bring her gifts and do little things that always made her feel better.

For instance, one day she'd told Cole about how Bethany Hawke used to make the best ratatouille. She'd told him how merely the smell of it could bring up the happiest memories of her life and how that smell alone never ceased to bring a smile to her face. Cole didn't visit her for a while after that, but when he returned it was with a large bowl of ratatouille. She didn't know how he'd gotten the ingredients or how he'd made it, or if he'd stolen it. The bowl didn't fit through the bars and so Cole had held the bowl up to her while she took spoonfulls through the bars. She'd smiled at him with tears of joy in her eyes and hugged him for his thoughtfulness.

Another time, Ember had awakened on the stone floor of her cell to find a hand-carved charm on a leather necklace lying beside her. The charm resembled a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon. It was clear that whoever made it had spent a great deal of time on it and had used exquisite care to carve the charm. When she'd asked Cole about the necklace he'd blushed a bright red and said he'd made it for her. It took her some time but she was able to get only one answer about the necklace out of him. Cole said it was a star, a star that was shining bright into the darkness that surrounded it, near but far away from the coveting cold, dark moon. Ember wasn't sure what he meant by that or why he would make her something so beautiful, but she tied the leather necklace around her neck and had been wearing it ever since.

Cole was constantly doing little things like that. They were just small little things, but they touched her deeply. They made her happy. They made her smile. They made her momentarily forget her gloomy surroundings and ominous fate.

Ember couldn't suppress the broad smile that bloomed on her face as she thought of him. Bloody hell, she felt like a total idiot smiling like a fool in her prison cell while she thought about a boy. She'd scarcely ever noticed the opposite gender before, at least not in _that_ way. But she was _definitely_ noticing Cole, no matter how hard she tried not to.

Maker help her, there was no doubt about it, she was losing her mind. Still, she couldn't deny that Cole had become special to her, a precious person in her life. He was so kind, thoughtful and caring, so much so that sometimes she swore he was compassion incarnate. She also found him mysterious and irresistibly intriguing as well as devastatingly attractive, but dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

Ember sensed the slightest shift of air pressure behind her, followed by the electrifying aura that encompassed Cole's form. Her skin prickled with awareness as she felt him come up behind her. A second later,nearly startling her out of her skin, Ember felt cool fingers brush her hair to the side. Neck exposed, she felt warm breath fall against the skin on the nape of her neck causing the hairs there to stand on end.

Ember could do nothing but stare straight ahead, her pulse escalating, aware of a slow heat that filled every pore on her skin. Her body began to tremble when she felt warm fingertips trail down the back of her neck. But something inside of her tightened when his fingers began tracing the symbol that was engraved on the back of her neck.

"What is this?" She heard Cole ask in his low, rasping voice that never failed to effect her.

"It's… it's nothing," Ember answered almost breathlessly.

_Oh, yes, definitely dangerous_, Ember thought a bit helplessly, even as she mentally chided herself for letting him affect her so. Certainly no man had ever affected her the way Cole did.

"Trust me." His voice was low, thick and rich like molten honey.

Trust was not a word she believed in. Trust always led to duplicity. Every person in her life had betrayed her, each form of treachery leaving its mark on her flesh and on her heart.

"Can I trust you?" she whispered, uncertain.

Ember turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Cole was crouched on the balls of his feet, his hand holding her hair away from her neck, his cerulean gaze searing into her. His sharply chiseled features resembled sharply cut ivory and held an austere masculine ruggedness that was only amplified by the messy golden locks that fell carelessly into eyes of liquid azurite.

It really was deplorable the way her pulse reacted to just the mere sight of him. How he contrived to look so unkempt and rough and attractive at the same time was a mystery to her. He had a shadowy and dangerous allure that was hard to ignore, and Ember was surprised to find she didn't want to. Maker's breath, how could anyone not remember this man? Those eyes alone were impossible to forget. She felt as though they were branded in her memory.

Cole lowered his head and looked up at her from beneath his long black lashes. "You can trust me."

Ember fought the increasing tendrils of unnatural attraction towards the blonde-haired man crouched enticingly before her. "Cole…" Ember was surprised at how husky her voice was. "I don't trust easily. Everyone single person I've ever trusted has betrayed me."

"I won't," he replied gently, sincerely. With those fathomless, blue eyes watching her intently, the way they seemed to consume her, made her stomach feel as though it were knotting in a thousand places.

"It is a brand," Ember answered, not sure in her decision to trust him.

Cole's eyes fell away from her briefly, roaming idly over the metal bars laid between them. Ember found that she could breathe a little easier without their intense weight bearing down on her.

"I've seen that brand before," he said. "But yours is not of lyrium."

Ember faced forward to hide her expression from him as she reached behind her to run her fingers over the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck. As she traced the mark, her fingers brushed Cole's and she felt a charge of electricity arch between them with the contact, jolting her with an abrupt shock. Ember told her hand to move, to stop touching him, but her fingers refused to listen and lingered on top of his.

The air immediately shifted, becoming strained and electric.

A few heartbeats later and Ember felt Cole's fingers move slightly beneath hers, the smallest of movement, the tips of his fingers lifted to intertwine with hers as they remained frozen on the nape of her neck. Heat, unnerving panic, and something she couldn't identify seemed to crackle over her skin, making it hum in reaction to the way his fingers seemed to burn into her skin.

Ember ripped her hand away and clasped her hands in her lap. A moment later and Cole removed his hand as well, letting the heavy red curls fall to cover the mark on the back of her neck.

"Tell me," Cole murmured behind her, his voice lower and huskier than it had been before. "Tell me how you received that mark."

Ember tried to formulate a response, but she couldn't when she was maddeningly conscious of the lean, powerful male body behind hers, could feel his heavy-lidded gaze lingering on her, his gaze burning a hole into her back.

"Please," Cole pleaded when she didn't answer. "I _must_ know."

With her heart knocking against her chest wall, Ember turned around to face him, sitting cross-legged in front of the metal bars. She slowly lifted her eyes to his and was instantly arrested by the broody orbs that held hers from beneath his shaggy blonde hair as he remained crouched on the balls of his feet in front of her, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs.

"My parents were simple farmers in Orlais. They lived in the country, away from other people," she started. "When I accidently set the family barn on fire, they were frightened of me. They'd never seen magic before." She scoffed with derision. "They thought I was a demon." Her eyes met his, the anger in them apparent. "They tortured me. They thought the torture would force the demon from me. Idiots."

Ember's hand absently went to rub the back of her neck. She closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of anger and pain that memory conjured up. "One day, they went to the nearest Chantry and returned with a book. In the book, they learned how mages were made Tranquil. They thought they could force the magic out of me by branding me with the Chantry's sunburst symbol as they'd seen in the pictures in the book. They didn't realize such a ritual required lyrium. They didn't want it on my forehead where everyone could see it and see I was a mage, so they put it on the back of my neck." She swallowed, her throat working. "They… they held me down and recited the Chant of Light as they branded me with the symbol of the Tranquil with a branding iron. It didn't make me Tranquil, of course. But it…" Her voice wavered and faded out on a shaky whisper of breath. "I was… I was only eight-years-old… just a child…"

She watched Cole's eyes grow stormy and dangerous and a muscle moved up and down in his jaw, as if he were chewing on something hard and distasteful.

Ember bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes down, fixing them upon the ground while she shifted uncomfortably. Never in her life had she opened herself this way. Never had she confessed a weakness to another. The world didn't need any more ammunition to use against her, yet here she was, handing the dagger to him that he could use to stab into her back.

Ember stared down at her boots, refusing to let the tears in her eyes fall. She didn't know why there were tears in her eyes or why there was suddenly a lump in her throat. She hated to cry. She hated when other people cried. Crying never helped anything but show one's weakness. She was not weak. She would not cry. She wouldn't.

"It wasn't your fault," Cole murmured softly, yet firmly.

Aqua orbs dragged slowly up his lean body to his face. Her breath hitched as she saw Cole's breath drawing harshly between his teeth and when she caught a flare of something in his eyes.

"No. It wasn't," she agreed in a little voice.

"What your parents did… it was wrong," Cole whispered in a low, rough voice. "A product of ignorance and fear. You didn't deserve that. You didn't do anything wrong. You were born with a gift - a gift the Maker gave you. There is nothing wrong with that. You were a little girl and someone who was supposed to protect you didn't do that."

"They tried to change me," she said in an uneven voice. "But they couldn't break me. No one will ever break me. I will not go gentle into that good night," she uttered fiercely, the green of her eyes flashing. "I will always rage, rage against the dying of the light."

Cole's dark, dangerous look instantly vanished. His blue eyes lit up with interest and Ember smiled at him in understanding. "You like that?" she asked.

Cole nodded quickly, his curiosity apparent.

"It's a poem," she explained. "Written by a circle mage named Dylan Thomas. He led a mage rebellion in Starkhaven a long time ago. It's my favorite."

Cole stared off into the distance. "The words are loud and filled with hate and pain. They are dipped in ink and blood, the blood of mages and templars alike. The desire for freedom is wrapped around them, like blankets around a child on a winter's night. Hunger coats them - hunger for freedom, for independence. They resonate with you, just as they resonate with other mages."

Ember used her nail to scratch at a dried piece of dirt on her black tights. "The words give mages hope. Sometimes we need hope that there really is joy and redemption on the other side of deep suffering. Sometimes we need hope that if we make a stand for our rights, if we refuse to back down and be intimidated by the face of oppression, that we will find serenity."

Cole said nothing. He continued to stare off to the side, as if he was somewhere else. For a long time they sat there in silence. Once she'd scratched the dirt off her tights, Ember exhaled a sharp gust of air.

"Maker, I'm bored," Ember blurted out, trying desperately to change the subject and lighten the mood. "I wish I had a book to read or something. I love to read." She flashed Cole a playful grin. "If I asked nicely do you think the templars will give me one?"

Cole blinked. "I don't think a templar would give a prisoner a book. They fear books and the knowledge they give the mages. I think they'll give you another black eye and some broken ribs to go with it instead."

She smiled disarmingly, those captivating blue-green eyes twinkling impishly over lightly freckled cheeks. "Well, that's not very hospitable of them, now is it?"

Cole gave her a pointed look. "Templars aren't known for their hospitality."

She laughed. "You're right. They're more known for the skirts they wear."

"And the mages they brutalize," Cole added with a quirk of his lips.

"Maker, Cole, you're such a downer." The laughing mischief in her bright eyes enlivened her entire expression, giving her an uncommon appeal.

Cole chuckled faintly, a rough, rusty sound that made Ember certain he was not a man that laughed often.

Icy blue orbs searched her face before he uttered under his breath, as if to himself. "That would help, wouldn't it?"

Her eyebrows bunched together. "What?"

Expressions, mercurial and rapid, charged across his face. Cole suddenly stood and wiped the dirt off of his leathers. "Bye."

Ember's smile dropped. "What?" She was on her feet in an instant, gripping the metal bars. "Where are you going?"

Cole looked at her as if the answer was obvious. "Parchment and words, stories of old and new, fantasies that only dreams can bring."

Ember blinked. "What does that mean?"

But Cole had vanished into thin air before the last word had left her mouth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cole walked away from Ember's cell, his body edged with tension and rigidity. He rubbed his chest just over his heart, wondering why it ached there all of a sudden. He was breathing deeply, somewhat frightened by what he was feeling, unable to put a name to the many emotions that flooded him. He couldn't fathom his emotions. He was swimming in them, drowning in them. He was overwhelmed. He chose to grasp the easiest one to deal with, the one that was most familiar to him, and let his anger slam into him.

He wanted to _hurt_ Ember's parents. He wanted it to be painful. He wanted it to be slow. He wanted blood. He wanted their blood for what they did to her. He'd obtained his own vengeance. She deserved hers as well.

His mind was racing, contemplating this intense reaction and what it could possibly mean, as he moved toward the lower chambers. Beneath the tower's lower chambers were the archives – rooms upon rooms filled with the books they didn't keep in the upper libraries. There were books about magic there, as well as books of music and philosophy, books in forgotten languages, and even the forbidden books they put under lock and key. Normally the archives stood empty, but sometimes Cole would find a mage spending long hours reading by candlelight. He would never understand what they found so interesting about words and pictures. Books were all just old paper to him. But right now, Cole was very interested in finding a particular book, one he remembered a young elven mage reading late one night.

A few hours later and Cole returned to Ember's cell. She asked him where he'd gone but he was too nervous to answer her. Instead, he handed her the book he'd gone searching for through the metal bars.

Cole watched with rapt attention as Ember took the book from him with a look of astonishment on her face. "It's a book of poems," Ember read. "Written by Dylan Thomas." She looked up at him and smiled her thanks as she held the book to her chest as though it were a precious and revered object.

Cole absorbed her delighted expression as if it were fuel for his soul. He was very, very pleased with her reaction, a tendril of happiness stirring within himself, the first in so long. Her breath-caught smile as the flames of her conjured flame danced across her face caused something within Cole to stir, to awaken from some dormant state. That smile… it touched something within him he had not known he possessed.

"Thank you, Cole," Ember whispered as she reached through the bars and touched his arm in a gesture of gratitude.

The sudden contact stirred a strange pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of his nerves. Cole looked down at the small hand that rested gently on the bare skin of his arm. Her touch made him strangely warm, heat crawling down his neck. His skin felt prickly, his pulse doing this weird jumping thing. It felt… _good_. Like he was alive. Like he was real.

A strange intimacy enveloped them. Cole held his breath while she continued to touch him, wanting to touch her in return. Ember looked up at him and Cole's eyes collided with a whirlpool of aquamarine framed by a shock of wild scarlet curls. The air between their bodies seemed to vibrate with some unknown charge, the tension between them palpable. There was an undercurrent of something flowing in the air around them that he couldn't comprehend. And there was something about the way she looked at him…

Ember ripped her hand from his arm as if she'd been burned and Cole felt a sharp sting of disappointment. She tucked a red curl behind her ear as she moved to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the bars and he did as well. Her knees touched his through the bars, the book open in her lap and the flame she'd cast hovering off the ground beside her.

"Do not go gentle into that good night," Ember read, her voice holding the soft hum of an ocean wave. "Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..."

Hours later, with most of the book read, Ember had fallen sleep. She sat cross-legged with the book open and forgotten in her lap. Her body was slumped forward toward him, her face turned to the side and pressed against the metal bars. Her neck was arched back at an odd angle that would most likely hurt when she woke up.

A thick, unruly mass of dark red curls were draped over one slender shoulder, forming a small pile on the stone floor. Some of the thick curls fell across the bars, covering his knee and hand that was rested there. His long pale fingers flexed beneath the soft locks and the scarlet curls rippled across the back of his hand, looking like rivers of blood weaving across the ivory skin of the back of his hand. A strange and unexplainable urge hit him to turn his hand over and let those curls rest in his palm, to let his fingers close over them and see what they felt like between his fingertips.

Unable to resist, Cole carefully reached out and lifted one thick, red tendril, stroking the lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

Cole's eyes shifted from her hair to the girl herself. She slumbered fretfully while she traversed in the Fade. He stared down at her from behind his blonde bangs, puzzled yet strangely fascinated. Of their own accord, his eyes traced every line and curve of her face, etching it into his memory. He wondered what it was that made her shine like that. Was it her heart, her soul, or her spirit?

His heart had accelerated while he looked down at her. He found that strange, unsure of the cause. He wasn't in danger, so why was his heart racing in his chest? His hands were sweaty too, though not with the need to draw his blade and run it across flesh. Heat flooded his body, though he wasn't running or sitting in front of a fire. His body was reacting strangely and he was having trouble explaining it, understanding it.

For as long as he could remember he'd carried a hollowness in his soul that could only be called loneliness. He was desperately lonely and consumed with darkness. But being with her… she assuaged his loneliness, brought light to the darkest parts of him, gave him a companionship that he'd been aching for. He felt as if she'd cracked the lifeless chill that had encased him for as long as he could remember. She made him feel hot and intensely vital. Intensely alive. _Real_.

In only a few weeks this girl had crawled in somehow, right down deep inside of him, and made herself at home, like it was where she was supposed to be. He needed something in her as he'd never needed in another. He would watch over this one. He would protect this one, like hands cupping a flickering flame during a winter wind.

Reaching through the bars, Cole ran his fingertips down the delicate bones of the sleeping girl's spine.

_I'll protect you_.

Cole silently made the decision that no one was ever going to hurt her. Because she understood him and because she wasn't afraid of him… because she was warm and bright and trusting while he guarded her while she slept.

_This one is mine_.

Cole pressed his forehead against the metal bars that separated them and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

**Author's Note**: The poem Ember reads is a poem entitled "Do not go gentle into that good night" written by Dylan Thomas.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Passion in Compassion

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 5 – The Passion in Compassion**

_With passion'd breath does the darkness creep_

_It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep_

_Transfigurations 1:5_

"Cole? Cole!" he was awakened by someone shaking his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open and he got up slowly and brushed himself off. He looked into the face of Ember who was staring at him wide-eyed, fear reflected in her blue-green eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I think so," he answered.

"You were having a nightmare," she supplied in a low voice. "You were screaming."

Cole's eyes grew dark and unreadable. "The curses of my life revisit at night, haunting me as if I should not be allowed absolution."

Ember didn't understand his answer. "Who's… who's Bunny?" she asked softly after a long pause. "You were screaming her name while you slept."

Cole's shaggy blonde hair hung in front of his eyes, but those icy blue orbs lifted to pierce her from beneath the wayward strands, his eyes incredibly intense. "She was my little sister."

Ember shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Did something happen to her?"

Cole hesitated. "Yes."

Ember tucked a bright red curl behind her ear. "You can tell me. It might help."

Cole looked away from her to stare off into the distance, eyes glazed as if seeing something that wasn't there. "My family brings up pain, old pain that lingers just beneath the surface of my skin."

"You can trust me," Ember replied gently, repeating the words he'd said to her the day before.

Cole kept his gaze averted as he replied, "Mother was gentle and kind, yellow inside like a ray of sunlight. Bunny was the same, though inside she was green, like the color of fresh spring leaves."

"And your father?"

A muscle worked in Cole's jaw. "Father was black on the inside. His fists spoke of his rage as he used them on us, his lips cursing us, '_Maker take you and your foul magic!_'"

Ember swallowed. "W-What happened?"

Cole hesitated, his expression pained. "I don't want to go back in the cupboard on the bad day."

"What bad day?"

Ember watched his cerulean eyes take on an unfocused look, as if he was remembering something in his past and when he spoke he spoke as if he was somewhere else, some other time."'_Hide!_' Mama whispers urgently to me. '_Take your sister and hide! Don't make a sound!_' I'm twelve-years-old and I'm taking Bunny in my arms. She's only six and she doesn't understand but she's afraid. She's crying because she's so afraid. I get in the cupboard and hide. Hide, like I always did when his fists needed someone to take his rage."

Ember gasped. "Sweet Andraste…"

"I get in the cupboard. It's small and it's cramped. '_Cole, you little bastard! You think you can hide from me forever?_' I hear him yell. In the cupboard, I hold Bunny in a crushing grip with one hand clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. '_Don't make a sound_,' I whisper to her. '_Hold your breath. For just a moment, we won't even exist_'. I hear him searching for us. '_Cole, come out and die like a man!_' He is screaming. '_You know what the punishment is!_' While he looks for us my hand remains clamped over Bunny's mouth to keep her quiet. Only… only she is dead." Cole's voice was faint, aching with pain. So much pain.

Ember's throat tightened around a sob. Cole was shaking, fighting against sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes flickered to hers and Ember winced, her heart wrenching as she caught a glimpse of a soul tormented by a deep sorrow.

"Bunny was crying, so I covered her mouth with my hand so he wouldn't hear," Cole explained in a tiny voice. "Mama told us to be quiet. I only wanted her to be quiet."

Ember's hand flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh Maker…"

"He finds me," Cole continued, his eyes growing ravaged and tortured as he returned to the bad day. "He finds me in the cupboard with my dead sister in my arms. He rips her from me and throws her to the dogs as if she is garbage. His front is covered in blood not of his own, but of mother's. He looks me up and down. '_You're worthless_,' he sneers. '_A mistake I should have drowned long ago. You've evil in you, boy, passed down by your mother. You'll pay the price just as she did_.' He's going to kill me this time. I know it. The dagger is in my hand. I don't know how. '_I won't let you hurt Mama anymore_,' I tell him. I hurt so much I see only red, breath only red. '_I'll stop you_'."

Cole looked down at his hands that were trembling. "I move faster then he thinks I can. The blade pierces his flesh. Blood is running red and warm between my fingers as I slide the blade into his throat and it exits out the back. We're free. I freed us. Only the only one who is free is me."

Ember could only stare at him, her heart breaking at the look of desolate agony that shadowed his face. She wanted to ease his pain but didn't know how. Cole's chin lifted and his eyes clashed with hers from beneath shaggy blonde locks that hung into his eyes. Ember sucked in a sharp breath, her heart aching, as she stared into fathomless icy blue pools filled with nothing but harrowing grief, guilt, and sorrow.

"I… I killed my little sister." His voice cracked on the last word. "I-I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. I didn't want him to find her. I didn't want her to get hurt. I was trying to protect her. I was trying to…" His voice caught on a broken sob and faded to nothing. Every inch of his face was carved with anguish and remorse, his fingers clutching the metal bars that separated them so tight his knuckles had turned white. He was shaking, violently, his shoulders jerking sharply as if he were crying, but he made no sound and there were no tears.

Without thinking, Ember leaned forward and reached through the bars to wrap her arms around him. Cole immediately clutched at her, holding her tightly, his arms gripping her almost painfully and she could feel him trembling. Ember held him to her, stroked his hair, and murmured soothing words to him as though he were a child. It felt strange and familiar at the same time to have a man's body so near hers. He clung to her, holding her, clutching, almost as though he were afraid she would leave him.

Cole murmured her name as he buried his face in her neck as best he could with the bars blocking him, his chin on her shoulder. He didn't seem so dark now, so otherworldly, with his strangeness and haunted eyes. Right now he seemed like a sweet, lonely little boy who needed her. Ember whispered soft, comforting words before kissing the top of his head as he nestled closer to her.

After a long time, the awful shaking stopped. Ember caressed his temple, smoothing his hair back from his face, and smiled at him. Cole's eyes slowly opened into hers. The liquid blue depths of his eyes were deep enough to drown in.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Of course." She smiled at him and ran a hand through his unruly blonde hair, watching as it flopped back to the messy mop on top of his head to hang into his eyes. "What are friends for?"

Fear entered his eyes as he moved out of her arms. "I'm afraid."

Her head tilted. "Of what?"

"I'm afraid you'll forget me."

"Never," she assured him.

His eyes turned sorrowful. "Everyone else does."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "I am not everyone else."

"No, you're not," Cole answered in a low, rasping voice, as those blue eyes seemed to bore into her with their intensity, seeing pieces of herself she'd thought she'd hidden from the world. "You are something else entirely."

Ember held his gaze for seconds that seemed to stretch and twist into something more. "What am I?" she found herself asking.

"You are bright, white-hot light." Cole pointed a finger at himself, eyes downcast. "In me is dark. Your light pushes the darkness until in me is bright."

Her face pinched with confusion and she shook her head. "I don't understand."

His eyes left hers before returning. "You hear but you don't see."

"Help me understand," she replied a little breathlessly.

"When I look at you…" Cole paused, searching for the right words. "…I see light shining, bright and twinkling, elusive and distant." Cole moved closer to her, his blue eyes glittering in a way she'd never seen before. "I am… drawn to it. To you," he murmured, his raspy voice the softest and huskiest she'd ever heard it.

Time suddenly seemed to halt, the very air vibrating with a blazing tension. His eyes seemed to burn as they stared down into hers. There was a strange and unfamiliar thrum in her heart as those eyes promised more than she was certain she could handle. He looked like he had wanted to… to…

Ember tore her gaze away from his and stared down at the metal bars that separated them, her heart galloping in her chest. In the lengthening silence Ember could hear the drip of water from the stone ceiling and the sobs of the imprisoned mages around her. She could feel his gaze on her, felt the heat of it, burning away every layer of clothing until she felt raw and exposed.

Ember saw his feet step into her view and she was suddenly conscience of the intense physical awareness she felt at his nearness. Ember didn't move away, though she knew she should. Cole's overpowering presence was making her dizzy, unable to think rationally, as if he was using magic.

Cole shifted in front of her, his hand moving slightly. Ember's pounding heart leapt into her throat and became lodged there as his hand reached through the bars and settled on her hip.

Ember's eyes dropped to the milky-white, very male hand touching her, burning her skin through her black cloth pants. His fingers flexed on her hipbone and her sharp inhale was a ragged thing, every muscle in her body clenching.

"Look into my eyes," she heard Cole say in a low, husky tone that resonated to some deeper place inside of her that she hadn't known existed until this moment.

Ember stared at his boots, the air around them suddenly thick and heavy with unseen tension, almost as if millions of tiny electrical currents had suddenly ignited all around them. She was keenly aware of his proximity, of what his nearness and touch were doing to her - a primitive, entirely feminine response of her own body.

"Look into my eyes," Cole repeated, and Ember was immediately conscious of the subtle change in his voice. The rasping tone stroked across her skin like a caress.

Unable to do anything else, wide aquamarine orbs slowly dragged up his leather-clad torso, his throat, his chin to meet his eyes. Their gazes locked, and the intensity she found there stole her breath away. Cole was staring down at her. Keenly. Unblinking. The entirety of his attention was focused on her, his eyes deep and penetrating. Ember found that he looked infinitely dangerous with that hard, sculpted face and lean, defined muscles hugged enticingly by the dirty leathers he wore. And his eyes… Maker… there was no light in them. Just blackness. Two dark, endless wells of liquid blue shadows. The haunted darkness lurking in his eyes reached out to her, wrapped its arms around her, pulling her into their shadows.

Cole took a step toward her, pressing against the bars, getting as close as he could, holding her gaze with unwavering intensity as he inhaled the air around him that carried her scent.

Ember exhaled a shuttering breath, her heart a fluttering mess.

Something inscrutable passed in his eyes before his fingertips moved slightly, the lightest of caresses on her hip.

His caress sent every nerve in her body aflame, sharpening all of her senses. Ember remained motionless as Cole's fingertips began to stroke her hip, the dark glint in his eyes mesmerizing her into paralysis.

Ember heard a shallow panting and realized it was the sound of her own breathing.

Cole's fingers trailed up her side, over her hip, to curl around her waist causing heat to spread through her belly.

Cole's grip tightened on her waist and he pulled her closer, dragging her to him until she was pressed against the metal bars.

Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears it was all she could hear, her body humming at feeling his firm male contours pressing against her through the metal bars. She knew she should pull away, yet an unnamable something held her transfixed.

Cole's hand slowly trailed all the way up her side until he was cupping the back of her neck, and she did her best to ignore the way his breathing had changed - becoming faster, deeper.

Ember's heart was beating wildly in her chest. She could hardly breathe.

Icy blue orbs flickered down to her mouth before immediately returning to her eyes, a strange heat suddenly reflected in their depths.

Her lips parted on their own accord, and she was suddenly conscious of an odd yearning deep within her.

His fingers were warm and strong and firm as they tightened on the nape of her neck and then he was pulling her toward him, dragging her inexorably, relentlessly closer to him, his gaze never leaving her mouth as he drew her to him.

With her heart battering her ribs, Ember laid her palm on his chest. The bunched muscle beneath her hand felt rock-hard, like stone, but the rapid beating of his heart told her he was very much alive in there. Drawn by an urge more powerful than reason, Ember tilted her chin up. Never had she felt such wild anticipation mixed with abject panic as his lips descended, closer, until their mouths where almost touching.

Cole abruptly paused, his lips hovering over hers, almost touching, as if he were afraid of what would happen.

Ember was breathless and unsteady as she stared spellbound, unable to surface from the sea of blue eyes in which she swam. The warm, electric current that flowed between them was palpable. Ember's heart beat painfully within her chest like molten rock as they stood there, unmoving, breathing hard, their labored breath mingling in the scarce space between them as he gazed into her eyes with an intenseness that seemed to search her very soul. Her legs suddenly felt warm and weak, as if they might collapse at any second.

"Ember…" It was like he was breathing in her name along with the air. Cole's blue eyes flickered back and forth between hers from beneath his shaggy blonde hair before he exhaled a ragged breath that filtered unsteadily against her mouth and brought her across the last scant inches separating them.

Cole's lips found hers, for only a second - a light brush of his bottom lip against her top. But even though the touch was a light as a feather and for only a brief moment in time, a firework of sparks and flames broke out along her skin, zipping through her body like a raging inferno of scorching heat and tingles. His lips tasted as she imagined moonlight would taste - smooth and mysterious, a hint of the darkness on the other side.

Cole's lips abruptly left hers, but instead of disengaging and moving away, his lips hovered above hers, his face contorted as if in pain. He exhaled sharp bursts of air over her lips and she inhaled, taking his breath deep into her lungs.

For a moment everything turned still and quiet. They stood breathing each other's air, eyes searching, the minuscule distance between them humming with electricity. Ember was breathing rapidly, her heart thundering violently, her face flushed. Her lungs struggled for oxygen and adrenaline pumped hard and heavy through her body. She couldn't think. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. The part of her that was needy and lonely wanted that kiss again, wanted it with a longing that was almost frightening. And she seemed incapable of stopping herself.

Ember lifted her chin and softly caught Cole's bottom lip between her lips. Ember's pulse was a dull roar in her ears as a warmth like no other before began to gather at the pit of her stomach before slowly spreading out to her limbs in a trail of fire. She lingered there for a moment before she pulled away ever so slightly, brushed her mouth against his and captured his upper lip. Beneath her hand, his heart thundered so hard it seemed to be in rhythm with her own.

Cole's mouth pressed back against hers awkwardly. They were both unsure of what they were doing, neither having done this before, the metal bars between them making it difficult.

Acting on pure instinct, Ember tilted her head and slanted her lips across his as best she could with the bars preventing her movements.

Cole stiffened and tightened his fingers behind her neck, his lips parting hers, opening them beneath. Ember gasped then sighed into his mouth. He stole her breath as his own and Ember thought she would die from the incredible sensations. With every breath that passed from her lips to his it felt as if he claimed more of her soul.

Electricity crackled around them while something strong and vital flowed between them. His free hand pressed against the small of her back and a bolt of lightning streaked through her so fierce it left her trembling. She could feel her body burst into life in a way she'd never felt before. The feeling threw her and she was paralyzed by it. A tingling, treacherous heat was snaking along her skin and gathering in places that, until now, she hardly knew existed.

A tiny whimper of pleasure glided unbidden from her throat before she could hold it in.

At the soft whimper, Cole's mouth became hot and urgent, and even in her innocence, Ember could feel the raw hunger in him. His hand dragged up the skin of her neck and into the nape of her hair. He tilted her head back, deepening the kiss. The hitch in her breath became ragged, gasping. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. She was drowning. Drowning in him. She couldn't breathe.

Ember pulled away slowly and Cole's lips held on until the last possible moment, loathed to separate, until finally disconnecting with a breathy sigh of instant regret. Cole pulled back slightly to look at her and Ember's hand trailed off his chest. Ember studied his face, watched his eyes blink open, almost as if he were stunned. He seemed barely to be breathing. She wasn't sure she was breathing either.

Ember's mouth opened to say something, to say anything, but no words came out. Her mouth snapped shut as Cole reached between the bars and took a russet curl between his fingers before bringing it to his lips, that dark intensity in his gleaming eyes boring into her.

Ember swallowed hard as Cole's eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled the scent of her hair, his black lashes casting fine shadows against the curve of his ivory cheekbones. Cole expelled an uneven breath, as if straining for willpower. Ember could sense the tight control he exercised over himself, could see the tension in his jaw. Cole's eyes slowly opened into hers and she saw a flicker of something in those deep blue eyes - something dark, potent, and frightening.

And then just like that, Cole faded away.

The curl he'd had pressed against his lips fell against her cheek, and Ember staggered back to lean against the stone wall of her cell and let out an explosive breath she'd been holding in. Shakily, she raised a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart. A dozen conflicting emotions warred within her, the attraction she felt for him so forceful as to be almost tangible. But the feelings he'd created within her were so… _intense_… almost unnatural.

Ember stared into the darkness Cole had disappeared into. Her eyebrows drew together, her mouth pressing thin with worry as she remembered what Malcolm Hawke had taught her.

_When a demon comes, Ember, it won't seem harmful at first. It'll be something to make you curious until later when it begins to corrupt you._

Before she could contemplate Malcolm's words, a cruel voice echoed ominously in her small cell. "It's time, little she-devil."

Ember turned her gaze to the short templar with the long brown hair standing in front of her cell, his arm in a sling.

André smiled cruelly at her. "It's time to make you Tranquil."

**Author's Note**: Poor Cole. The first time I read about Cole's background in the book _Dragon Age: Asunder_, I almost cried. Cole even mentions being in the cupboard on the bad day in Dragon Age 3 in one of the first conversations you have with him.


	6. Chapter 6 - Demon

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 6 – Demon**

_The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil _

_And grew jealous of the life _

_They could not feel, could not touch_

_In blackest envy were the demons born_

_- Erudition 2:1_

Ember's body, her thoughts, went cold. Inactive. Immobile.

"T-Tranquil?" She hated how her voice trembled with the force of her terror.

André smiled, almost victoriously at her apparent fright. "That's right. You won't say no to me once you're Tranquil. You'll do everything I ask of you."

Panic licked her spine. "Keep away from me, you templar cur!" she cried, palpable fear lacing the words, and was not surprised when he laughed.

"So much spirit." His cruel smile held as he ran his fingers across the bars. "I want to be the one to break it before it is taken away entirely."

A fury engulfed Ember, freeing her from her paralyzing fear. "Templar swine! I'd kill myself first!"

André just laughed, an ominous sound that chilled her to her bones. Ember's blue-green eyes frantically searched the darkness around the cell for Cole, but she found nothing. Maker help her, she was on her own.

Ember watched with trepidation as the templar reached into his armor, searching for the key to her cell and a slow rolling dread built within her as realization set it.

_He is going to rape me, and then the templars are going to make me Tranquil_.

Awareness, horrific and frightening, caused her eyes to widen and her body to freeze in terror, a wave of pressure crashing from her throat to her gut.

_Oh Maker… don't let this happen… Andraste save me…_

Ember's heart was thumping like a rock against her chest, her throat was dry, her breathing sporadic and growing more labored by the second, her body trembling with fear.

Suddenly, a strange sort of calm settled over her, like a warm blanket, and her panic began to fade, her terror ebbing. A thin line of defiance tightened her mouth as her fingers touched the charm that hung from the leather necklace secured around her neck that Cole had made for her – a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon.

_André_ _will not touch me. The templars will not make me Tranquil. I will not allow it. I will fight. I will fight until my dying breath._

Ember's chin tucked, aquamarine eyes flashing beneath blood-red curls as she watched André insert the key into her cell door. Gathering her courage, Ember quickly ripped the leather necklace from her neck. She wrapped her hands around the ends of the leather band and held tight. She watched as the templar opened her cell door and walked inside.

Adrenaline was pumping through her as she waited until the templar's back was turned to close her cell door behind him. With a quick, deft movement she leapt up to his height and threw her arms around his neck, the leather necklace pressed tight against his Adam's apple. The templar gagged and stumbled backwards. Ember's booted feet climbed the back of his legs to dig into his lower back, and she yanked back on the leather band at his neck with all her strength. The templar began to gasp for breath, his hands clawing at hers and the leather necklace as he swung his body sharply to the right and the left, trying to fling her off of him. Ember held on with all her might, pulling on the leather necklace with all her muscle, leaning back and using her weight.

Moments later, the templar's struggling slowed along with his gasps for breath, and he fell forward to the ground, landing face first on the stone floor, taking Ember down with him. Ember lay on top of him, breathing deeply, still clutching the leather necklace in her hands. The templar beneath her wasn't moving, wasn't breathing.

Trembling, Ember forced herself to her feet and secured Cole's leather necklace back around her neck. She quickly donned her coppery chainmail with her black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. She grabbed the book of poems Cole had gotten for her and stuffed it into her belt at her back. She quickly searched the templar's corpse. She took his dagger and secured it at her hip and his pack around her waist that contained health potions and lyrium. She searched his body until she found the keys to the cells. She ran to her cell door, reaching through the bars, and stuck the key in the lock and turned. The lock fell open and she pulled the lock from the cell door.

And then she was running. Running as fast as she could through the dark and winding hallways of the dungeons of the White Spire. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out of there before the templars found her. Cole said the catacombs had tunnels that led out of the White Spire. If she could just reach one before the templars found her, she would be free. Her heart leapt at the word. She would not be made Tranquil. She would be free. It was a small hope, but she clung to it with all her might.

_Cole._

The thought of him made her steps falter. She had to find him. She couldn't leave without him. She wanted him to escape with her. She wanted them to be together. She had fallen for him. She'd been trying to make sense of her tangled emotions, but now she knew. She cared for him. After only a month, Cole had somehow managed to situate himself into her heart, becoming someone very special and precious to her.

She would find him. She had to.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cole stumbled, shaking and unstable, wandering deeper into the dark depths of the dungeons of the White Spire. The air grew more stale and harder to breathe with each step he took, his surroundings morbid with their dripping walls and lichen-splotched ceilings. Cole fell against the stone wall that lined the dark and dismal hallway he now found himself in, the back of his head connecting with a soft thud. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. It physically hurt to take in each breath as he tried to steady his breathing with deep, calm breaths.

Cole touched his lips. It tingled and burned where she'd kissed him, and he felt it all the way down to his bones. He couldn't find the right words, never having felt anything quite like what he was experiencing. It was foreign, confusing, and supremely potent. And it was all because of her, a girl so beautiful and gentle it made his heartache. Just thinking of Ember made the center of his chest a hot, searing knot. She was in his bloodstream, being pumped into his heart, filling it. He didn't want her to forget. A week from now, or a month, he didn't want to be the only one who remembered this.

It had required supreme willpower to draw away from her. But he had to. With her mouth pressed so softly and willingly against his he'd felt the darkness within him shift and swell, building inside him, threatening to tear free. When her mouth parted beneath his and she breathed life into him, he'd been filled with this… this _want_… this overwhelming _need_…. the terrifying desire to _possess_. He'd felt the darkness about to escape the tight hold he'd tried to keep on it and he'd fled. He couldn't let it escape. Couldn't allow it. Not with her so close.

Cole groaned and rolled onto his shoulder, letting his warm cheek press against the cold stone wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as that familiar feeling crept like a chill over his bones. The darkness was spilling up inside of him. He tried to will it away, tried to push it back down, but it wouldn't go. It seeped into every part of him, trying to take him away.

_No. Not now. I won't let you. _

He clenched his teeth, terrified of being swallowed up by the darkness and fading away forever. It was like the ground was slowly turning to quicksand under his feet and he was sinking, disappearing, becoming transparent. Terror swept him. He didn't want to be truly lost.

_I won't let you take me away from her._

He was trembling. His heart was hammering. A cold sweat was pouring down his face. It almost felt like the shadows in the hall lengthened, like they stretched out toward him, but he tried to evade them.

_I belong here. I want to be here. I won't leave her. _

Cole rolled again until his forehead was pressed against the stone wall. He needed to push the darkness down deep into himself, to control it. His eyes closed and he focused. The cries of the imprisoned mages echoed all around him, but amidst their grief-ridden sobs, a soft sound began to rise over them. It was a slow and haunting tune, and he was humming it. And he remembered it.

_Wet, white sheets hanging on a line as a warm breeze dried them under a hot summer sun. Flashes of golden hair peeking out between the ivory linens as the wind blew through them. Honeyed tresses and blue eyes. A sudden feeling of comfort, safety, love… and family._

"_I almost didn't hear you approach." A dulcet, feminine voice on the wind. Blue eyes turn to see the tears on his cheeks. Blue eyes see the bruises on his face and arms. Blue eyes become sad. Warm, loving arms are around him, embracing him. A slow, haunting tune falling from lips as she rocks him back and forth._

_"Mama… am I a bad person?"_

_"Why do you say that?"_

_"Dad says I'm cursed with foul magic."_

_"You were born with magic, but that does not make you a bad person."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"Your heart told me." A warm smile shinning down on him. "It is pure, true, honest and kind. You are good, Cole, perfect just the way you are." __Warm, loving arms are around him again. __"Remember, the Maker loves you." __Doting kisses on wet cheeks__. "Mama loves you too, dear heart. Mama loves you."_

Cole blinked as the memory fragment started to fade. He tried to catch it, but the memory slipped through his fingers and was soon gone. He breathed, each moment slow and excruciating, until finally it wasn't so bad. After a few more breaths, his breathing slowed, returning to normal. Cole breathed with a relief that was soul deep.

_I'm still real_.

After a few moments, he was able to collect himself somewhat and he pushed himself away from the wall. He turned and started heading for Ember's cell, needing to be close to her now that the darkness wasn't overwhelming him.

Cole stopped abruptly as he heard something in the distance. It was a soft cry. A soft cry for death. He could feel it. A lost and hopeless soul. A burning need rose within him, a need to seek them out and free them from their pain. Cole ran his thumb along the edge of the dagger that was in his hand. Sharp. He could give them a way out. He could help while also preventing himself from becoming nonexistent.

Unable to ignore the siren's call, Cole moved swiftly through the dark hallways of the dungeons to where a templar stood on guard by the door that led to the White Spire Tower. His head kept drooping and then snapping up again. Slowly, Cole walked over to the templar, heart pounding in his chest. He stood inches away, looking into his eyes, and knew the guard saw nothing. He stared right through him.

_You don't see me. You won't notice anything I do. _

Cole stared into the guard's eyes, concentrating, reaching down into the well of darkness within himself. Way down inside of him, in the darkness he never dared to look, something was there. He tried not to let it frighten him. Instead, he told it to come.

_You can't see what I do_.

Cole stared into the templar's eyes, so close he could smell his sour breath. Cole embraced the dark power within himself, allowing it to pulse out through his limbs, steeling himself against the fear that came with it. The fear that he was slipping away into nothing. Reaching out, ever so carefully, Cole plucked the keys from the templar's belt. He maintained eye contact the entire time. The man didn't react. The keys jingled, and Cole froze.

_You won't see me. _

The templar's mind unconsciously fought against him, and Cole concentrated hard, a headache forming, until he could feel the shroud he'd lain over the guard's eyes. He stood in front of the templar, but the man looked right through him.

Cole carefully backed away from the guard, clutching the keys to his chest, watching for any signs of a response. The man didn't blink, didn't react at all. Cole swallowed, forcing the dark power back down, fighting to keep it from taking over. He brought a trembling hand to his sweaty forehead, fighting for control.

Minutes later, Cole was standing in front of a cell door. Behind it was the lost and hopeless soul that was calling out to him. He unlocked the cell door. The slightest click as he turned the key, and then the faintest noise as he pulled the door open. Quickly, Cole slipped inside. As he entered the cell, Cole saw it was an elven girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. She was cowering in the corner of the tiny cell, curled up in a ball, crying incessantly, her brown hair greasy and stringy around her face.

His chest tightened as he drew close enough to see the girl clearly. All that remained of her blue mage robes was the tattered skirt. The gleam of white was her skin and the remnants of her muslin chemise. Her thin white arms were peppered with black-and-blue marks where fingers had obviously dug into her flesh. Her chemise had been torn away, baring her small chest. Her cheek was swollen, her lip split open, an ugly purple and blue bruise surrounding her eye. Her tattered skirt rode high, and he saw that the pale skin of her inner thighs was caked with blood and something else.

Cole crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls on his feet. With a suddenness that startled him, she jerked her head up. Her eyes filled with stark terror. She took one look at him and began to scream, shrill and short, interspersed with shallow panting. She dove passed him and stumbled out of her cell and into the dark hallway. She tripped over her torn skirt and fell to the stone floor. She scrambled back away from him in fear until her back hit the stone wall that lined the hallway.

Cole slowly stood and approached her. The instant he moved, she began glanced around wildly, as if she sought help. When he stood over her, she began to whimper. "W-Who are y-you?"

"I am the Ghost of the Spire," he answered as he reached under his leather vest and drew a dagger from its sheath. It was an ornate blade with an elaborate brass hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head.

She glanced down at the dagger in Cole's hand, her eyes widening in fear. "Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!" she cried frantically as she shrank against the stone wall to put distance between them. Tears welled in her eyes. When she looked at him again, her expression was one of complete despair. "Please don't hurt me. I can't take anymore pain."

Cole crouched down in front of her and whispered softly, "I can make the pain and fear go away. You won't have to suffer what was done to you again. You won't have to see what they have in store for you." His words were gentle as the dagger in his hand glinted in the low light.

"W-What do they h-have in store for m-me?" she asked, uncomprehending. For an instant her disoriented eyes seemed to focus on him. "They're going to make me Tranquil, aren't they?" Her voice was as dead as her eyes.

Cole nodded sadly, but didn't respond.

Her eyes fell to the dagger in his hand. "Then I want to die." Her low voice caught on the last word. She was crying as she whispered, "I want you to kill me."

Cole stared down at the dagger in his hand, and for a long time the two of them remained in silence.

"Look into my eyes…"

The woman stiffened, but slowly tilted her head back until her brown eyes met his. Cole raised his dagger. Gently, he placed the serrated edge against the woman's neck. She didn't flinch. In fact, she pressed her neck against the blade, welcoming it.

"Thank you," Cole breathed as he gently dragged the serrated blade across her neck, drawing blood. She gasped in shock, but did not look away. Fathomless blue orbs stared deep into dark brown as he cut deep, the mage's neck gushing red blood down the front of her bare chest and into her torn robes. The knife left her neck and she convulsed, a spurt of bright blood erupting from her mouth. Then, with a final shudder, she collapsed into his arms. Cole stared down at her, watching the life leave her eyes.

Cole slowly lowered her body to the ground and closed her eyes before standing, though he continued to stare down at her. He was only dimly aware of the warm blood covering the blade, his hands, the entire front of his leathers. He frowned. This usually made him feel connected, like he belonged in the world. It was typically the only thing that made him feel alive. But it was nothing compared to what he'd felt when he'd kissed Ember. When he'd kissed her…

Cole's eyes clenched shut, a muscle working in his clenched jaw. Nothing had ever made him feel more alive. And he knew in the depths of his soul, nothing ever would. In only those blue-green eyes was he anchored, and he felt like he existed. In only those lips was he given life. In only her was he… _real_. He just wanted to feel what she made him feel. All the time. From now on. He couldn't imagine going back to a life without her. With Ember, distance wouldn't come. He wanted to share with her, to feel. Wanted to know emotion and connection with her. He wanted-

A soft gasp cut through his thoughts and the silence that surrounded him like a knife.

Cole's chin slowly turned until blue orbs beneath shaggy blonde locks collided with wide aquamarine framed by fiery russet curls. Cole's heart dropped into his stomach, his breath becoming nonexistent. Standing at the end of the hallway was Ember, staring straight at him. The expression on her face would be forever branded on his memory with a sharpness and clarity that was painful.

Fear, stark and vivid, shone in her wide and alarmed eyes, while the color had drained from her face. That look… it struck him like a physical blow. Acrid shame gripped him, clawing at his throat that was sprayed with fresh blood. Her apparent shock, horror, and hurt ate at him, tore at his insides.

In that moment, Cole felt and saw the full consequence of his actions. Ember was stricken, staring at him as though staring at a strange, unknown, dangerous creature and attempting to make sense of it while also trying to get away from it.

She was afraid of him.

His blood ran cold as a dismal sense of fear crashed over him. He felt a jarring sensation akin to panic and an odd numbness in the vicinity of his heart. Without thinking, Cole rubbed the heel of his palm over his heart, as if that would somehow ease the ache, desperately wanting nothing more than to take it back.

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Ember stood numb, though her body was visibly shaking. There was a furtive tension to the way she stood, as if she was paralyzed by fear and yet desperate to run. She was afraid to breath, afraid that if she did it would mean she was alive and this was not some terrible nightmare.

Her eyes fell to stare, unblinking, at the blood soaked dagger in Cole's hand. Her eyes lifted to stare at the blood on his hands, on his chest, stare at the blood sprayed across the smooth angles of his ghostly white face, stare into the blackness in his eyes that glowed like a devil's.

In that moment, he was the most dangerous creature she'd ever encountered.

The Veil was fragile here, and she could sense the demons, lurking just beyond and eager to enter this world. Demons were drawn to mages, to transform them into terrible abominations. And Cole… the air of danger that clung to him was palpable, undisputable, dark power coming off him in dark potent waves, eyes tangled and unfathomable as a maze in the Underworld. He was not of this world. A devil spun of darkness and fire.

Understanding nearly brought her to her knees. A dizzying sense of disbelief assaulted her, a nausea so strong she thought she might faint. The violent reality of it was paralyzing. She could feel this stark, gnawing terror in the pit of her stomach. It burned, like acid up her esophagus and she felt she'd choke on it.

Some survival instinct, some sense of self-preservation, told her to run. Run like hell. Run and never look back. To get as far away from him as possible.

"Ember… don't… please don't look that way," Cole pleaded softly, his eyes weary, tortured, bottomless wells of cobalt.

Ember's hand secretly stole toward the dagger she'd taken off the templar that was concealed at her waist. The cold steel made her feel secure and safe, allowing her to keep panic and fear at bay. Icy blue orbs followed the movement, recognizing it for what it was: Fear.

They stood, staring at one another, a brittle and heavy silence engulfing the space between them that was so full of tension that it felt like lute cords stretched unbearably thin and just waiting to snap.

Suddenly, Cole cautiously strode towards her, trying to close the distance between them, but moving down the dark hallway warily, as if he was walking on thin ice.

Ember's eyes went wide as saucers and she scrambled backwards, her body bunched with tension, and she extended an arm to ward him off. "Just – just stay right where you are! D-Don't come any closer!" Panic caked her voice, the edges sharp enough to slice through steel.

Cole came to a stop, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his grief. The agony that twisted on his face was difficult to watch, but she steeled herself against it. The silence that ensued was heavy with tension. The coppery scent of blood and the decaying stench of death hung heavy in the air, saturating it. Stunned and sickened, Ember stared at the bright crimson blood that pooled around the elven girl that was slowly crawling towards her as it expanded on the dirty stone ground. As she stared at the poor girl, despair and anger twisted around her heart, wrenching it tightly.

Ember's expression became fierce and hard as it focused on Cole again. "You… you killed her. You… you _murdered_ her." Her eyes kindled, making her fiery curls seem more vibrant. "You… she begged you… begged you not to kill her, and you… you _killed_ her!"

His eyes flickered down to the dead girl lying on the stone. "She wanted to die."

"She was begging you for her life and you took it!"

His face became wracked with grief. "They beg for death not-"

"_They_?!" she cried in disbelief, her tongue fairly tripping over the word. "Maker's breath! This isn't the first time?!"

Cole stared at the floor, embarrassed and ashamed.

She knew the answer.

Her hand flew to her throat. "Sweet Andraste…"

After a long and painful silence that seemed to suck up all the air, he spoke, "I end their suffering. They see me because they want to die," he explained softly. "The pain isn't too much. I make sure of that."

For a long while, Ember felt paralyzed in mind and body as she stared at him. "Is it blood magic?" she demanded, her voice shaky. She paused and calmed herself. "Do you use blood magic to keep people from remembering you, or even noticing you at all?"

Cole looked perplexed. "I don't know any magic."

"Then why?" she asked, her voice small and strained. "Why do you kill them?"

Cole stood still, holding the wicked-looking dagger that was coating with fresh blood at his side. "I needed to… I need to."

Her eyes flashed, making them appeared more green than blue. "_Needed_ to. You _needed_ to kill them?"

Cole chewed his lip, an expression that Ember had seen before whenever he was trying to put a difficult thought into words. "There's a pool in one of the lower halls. I go there sometimes," he murmured, appearing lost in thought. "You can float when you're underwater. If you close your eyes, it's like you're floating in nothing. You're surrounded by darkness, and all you can hear is yourself. Everything else is far away."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked in a strangled voice.

Cole was quiet for a while. "Sometimes I feel like I'm underwater, and I won't ever get out again. I just keep sinking and sinking, and there's no bottom. The darkness is going to swallow me up." His voice broke and he cleared it. "I'm falling into the cracks between what's real and what's not real, and if I don't stop myself I'll be lost there forever. The only way I can stay is to…"

Her heart was pounding in her throat. "Is to… _kill _people?"

"The moment they die, they look at me. They _see_ me. They know I'm the one that's killed them, and that makes me the most important thing in the world." Cole's gaze flickered to her and she found herself staring squarely into the eyes of oblivion. "I've never been that important to anyone." The words came out as a hoarse croak. "They return to the Fade remembering me. For just a moment I'm a part of the world again. I'm real. I'm _alive_. I don't want to be lost-"

"I don't care what you say." Ember's tear-filled gaze sliced to him. "I don't believe you."

Cole looked up at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "They were hurting. The dagger lets the hurt out."

"A dagger causes pain and death!" she threw at him.

"I'm helping them." His voice was thick, his eyes large and glistening beneath shaggy blonde locks. "I use the knife to set them free."

"You're not helping them!" she screamed. "You're hurting them! Killing them! There are other ways to help people, but you ignore them all and choose the knife because you _like_ it!" She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a dry sob. "You're a cold-blooded murderer. At best that's what you are. At worst, I don't even want to think about what you might be. You're a monster!"

Cole turned away, as if stricken. He clamped his eyes shut, fighting back a wave of tears.

The guilt, confusion, and disillusionment each shoved against her chest, nearly suffocating her. So desperately did she want to believe him. Whatever he was, she wanted to believe he meant well. But as that poor girl's blood dripped off the end of his dagger to join the pool of it at his feet, she knew she didn't believe it. She felt so mad, hurt and betrayed. She'd refused to see him for what he was because of her foolish attraction to him.

But she could see him for what he was now.

Demons often became confused when they passed through the Veil. They found themselves in a world they had no control over, and no connection to. They sought out such connections, possessing whatever they could see and touch, seeking to make it conform to the world they'd left behind - a world embodied by concepts and emotion rather than immutable reality.

Cole said he killed because he was fading away. As if he lacked a connection to the world, and the killings somehow strengthened it. Blood magic was the manipulation of life energy, the strongest source of mana. Such life energy could provide a demon the connection it needed to prevent it from falling back to the Fade, no matter how temporarily. Cole could influence the minds of others. He could appear invisible to them and also make them forget him. Those abilities were the hallmarks of blood magic. Strange powers fueled by the letting of blood from the victims.

But only a mage could perform blood magic. So either Cole possessed the body of some unfortunate soul and was an abomination, and thus able to use that body's magic to draw the life force from it, or he was a disembodied spirit trying desperately to maintain a connection to this world, his only power the ability to influence the minds of others, most likely bending her thoughts into thinking him harmless.

Ember didn't know which he was. And she didn't care. All she knew was that he was dangerous. Very, very dangerous. He was a murderer, a heartless fiend who killed innocent mages just to feel alive. Was she next? Would he kill her?

Ember bolted. In a flurry she ran through the hall. The stairs leading down to the catacombs appeared around the corner, and she stumbled, practically falling down the steps. Then she almost fell on her face as a tall, dark, dreadfully familiar figure appeared out of thin air in front of her.

Ember shrieked, scrambling madly out of his reach.

"Please…" Cole pleaded, stalking after her, his eyes aglow with that unholy light. "Don't… don't leave me," he whispered brokenly, like he couldn't bear to see it happen, a hint of desperation and an echo of devastation lacing the softly spoken words.

He was in her space then, leaning into her and her face went a bit paler. Her whole body turned ice cold, then fire hot, before all her blood decided to rush violently in her veins, her accelerating heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears.

"You're my first friend. My only friend." He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. "You burn so brilliantly. Fiery, gentle, warm. Strong yet soft. A flickering flame in a black pit, bright and shining and beautiful. Lips soft as velvet, skin the scent of fire and ice, warm breath breathing life into me…"

His eyes claimed hers and didn't release them. He reached out and captured a scarlet curl between his thumb and forefinger, his expression dark and intense. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to forget. I… I don't want to return to icy walls of darkness, surrounding, drowning, aching and alone, empty of light and warmth and lips and…" His eyes lingered on her mouth, then rose back to search her eyes. "If you go, dear heart, I want to go with yo-"

"No." That one word echoed against the stone walls that surrounded them.

Ember watched as the life seemed to drain out of Cole, anguish and desolation lying naked in his eyes.

"I wish I'd never seen you." Her voice was only a whisper of quiet anguish, merging with the stillness around them.

She heard the air leave his body in a loud whoosh and saw the pain fill eyes, contort his pale face as cold, as bleak as death. "You may wish to have never seen me, but I cherish the day I saw you, and everyday since." His voice was grating, so rough, eyes so tortured it hurt staring into them.

The breath left her lungs while a sudden ache burned her throat and her eyes. She was so full of hurt, confusion, and choking fear it was ravaging her. She smothered it, forcing herself to become numb and encased in a frigid block of ice.

She was so cold she wasn't feeling anything.

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Cole felt a strange sense of panic settle in, a nameless fear take hold.

He took one step forward, his hand outstretched, feeling a desperation that he didn't recognize as he watched Ember turn and flee down the stairs to the catacombs, disappearing into the darkness.

His hand fell limply to his side.

Tears burned in his eyes as a terrible grief overwhelmed him.

He stumbled back and hit the stonewall.

There he crouched down, placing his head between his knees and his hands over his head.

She wanted to get away from him.

She was afraid of him.

She thought him a monster.

He lost her.

Lost her forever.

She was gone.

She was never coming back.

He'd never see her again.

She was going to forget about him, just like all the rest.

He was alone.

Again.

All alone in a world that couldn't see him, couldn't remember him.

Anguish, it rippled like a shockwave from his core as a terrifying sense of loss gripped him, making it difficult to breathe.

Cole squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into the back of his skull.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Hot-white pain, searing and burning, blistering, tearing, consuming.

It was unbearable.

He could feel the light she'd placed in the vacant hole of emptiness inside of him go out, returning once more to nothing but cold, bleak blackness.

The darkness within him smiled a sinister smile as it slowly rose to claim his soul, devouring it, leaving him hollow, aching, and alone.

**Author's Note**: This chapter was heavily influenced by the book _Dragon Age: Asunder_ written by David Gaider, the head writer of the Dragon Age games. The part where Cole says he sometimes feels like he's underwater was taken straight from the book. That is my favorite quote from the book and I just had to include it. It's such a great description of who Cole is. Oh, and a lot of people have asked me if I intend to continue writing this story. The answer is yes. I don't start posting stories until I have them outlined. In fact, I've already written a fair share of the chapters in this story. This is the last chapter in Part 1 of this story, which takes place in the dungeons of the White Spire. There is only one chapter in Part 2. The rest of the chapters are in Part 3, which takes place five years later during the events of Dragon Age 3. I wanted to give a shout out to NovaCat: Thank you for your review. I have a deep appreciation and love for art and admire those with the gift for it. I wish I could draw so that I could put what I see in my head to color but, alas, I have no artistic skill whatsoever. I would love, love, love any artwork to this story. I love all of you and I hope you have a happy new year!


	7. Chapter 7 - Memories

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Part II - The Space Between**

**Chapter 7 – Memories**

_Each night in dreams_

_That you may always remember me_

_- __Threnodies 5:1-5:8_

_One Year Later _

_9:37 Dragon_

_Valence_

At the cloister in Valence, Leliana was on her knees, head bowed, hands clasped in front of her face in prayer, her black hood pulled up and covering her short auburn hair. This was where Divine Justinia V had formerly been the Revered Mother, and simply Dorothea to her. She came here when her faith was shaken, as it was now.

Leliana had just heard that a mage, Anders, had destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall, slaying the Grand Cleric. His acts had set off a series of events that led to the slaughter of nearly every member of the city's Circle of Magi. So many innocents dead. So much wasted life. She couldn't see how the Maker could allow something like this to happen.

Leliana couldn't help but feel guilty. As the Left Hand of the Divine, she'd gone to Kirkwall to see the mage-templar conflict for herself. The Divine had wanted her to judge the situation and take any action she thought necessary to keep the peace. Leliana had met the Champion of Kirkwall. She'd also met that mage, Anders. She should've killed him then. She could've prevented all of this. Why hadn't she seen him for what he was? Why didn't Hawke kill that abomination years ago? Why didn't-

"Leliana!" Sister Natalie cried as she burst through the doors to the back room, out of breath.

"Yes?" Leliana asked with a raised eyebrow.

"There's a girl… she just stumbled through the front doors and she's… she's covered in blood," Sister Natalie panted, clutching her side. "She's asking for you by name."

Leliana stood swiftly and ran to the front doors followed closely by Sister Natalie. She gasped when she saw the body of a girl lying on the floor by the front doors. She was young, maybe eighteen-years-old, and a heavy mass of deep red curls were spread around her head like a halo of fire. Her face was covered in little cuts and bruises, and her slender body was covered in blood, mud, twigs and leaves. She looked as though she'd been through hell.

Leliana looked over her shoulder at Sister Natalie and said firmly, "Get some health potions and a healer right away. The girl will also need food, water, and a bath."

"A-Alright," Sister Natalie stammered before she disappeared out the front doors.

The girl's head suddenly turned toward her and Leliana found herself staring into the most vivid blue-green eyes she'd ever seen.

"S-Sister… Sister N-Nightingale?" the girl croaked, her voice sounding as dry and cracked as her lips looked.

"Yes, I'm Sister Nightingale," Leliana answered as she approached the girl cautiously, not sure if she should trust her. This could be a trap. This girl could be an Antivan Crow who'd come here to assassinate her. She should be careful.

Leliana knelt beside the girl, her hand on the hilt of her hidden blade. "Maker's breath, child. What happened to you?" she asked softly as she looked the girl over, checking her injuries.

The girl tried to smile up at her, but she winced from the pain it caused her bruised face and the smile disappeared. "I've been looking for you for so long."

"Looking for me?" Leliana asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously.

"You have no idea…" the girl's voice cracked and faded to nothing. Her eyelids fluttered as if she was fighting unconsciousness. "…no idea what I've gone through to find you."

"Why were you looking for me?" Leliana asked sharply, interrogating.

The girl, unable to fight it anymore, let her eyes close. "The Hero of Ferelden told me I'd find purpose with Sister Nightingale," she murmured on a soft breath.

Understanding dawned on her, and Leliana's face softened immensely and her fingers immediately fell from the hilt of her dagger. She gently brushed a few unruly red curls away from the girl's face as she smiled down at her – softly, tenderly, lovingly – and whispered to the girl, "I've been waiting for you."

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_9:39 Dragon _

_The White Spire_

Cole sat cross-legged on a wooden chair in the archives that was located beneath the White Spire Tower's lower chambers.

"Am I the first person to ever see you?" Rhys asked casually as he moved a chess piece on the board that was lying on the wooden table between them.

Cole shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No."

Rhys watched his opponent lean forward and take his pawn. The senior enchanter placed his chin in the palm of his hand as he considered the chess pieces in front of him and the possibilities behind his opponent's maneuver. They were past the preliminary moves and were moving into the meat of the game.

"Really? Who saw you before?" Rhys asked while he considered taking Cole's queen.

Cole hesitated. "A girl."

Rhys lifted his head to look at the young man sitting across from him, his expression curious. "A girl?"

Cole scratched his cheek. "She was a spirit medium, like you."

"So… a girl, huh?" Rhys replied suggestively with an impish grin.

Cole looked back down at the chessboard, his pale cheeks holding a pink hue. "She saw me when most couldn't, and she remembered."

Rhys' head tilted. "What was she like?"

A look of melancholy crossed Cole's features. "Gentle. Bright. Alive."

The corner of Rhys' mouth lifted into a knowing smile. "Was she pretty?"

Cole's eyes lifted to pierce him beneath shaggy blonde locks, his eyes incredibly intense. "I did not know something so beautiful could exist."

Rhys was smiling broadly now. "What was her name?"

Cole hesitated, swallowed then swallowed again, unsure if he'd be able to say it out loud. The name was in his head every waking second of every day, her face lingering in the dark abyss of his unconscious at night while he slept. She was always with him in his dreams, but never in reality.

Rhys continued to stare at the young man, waiting, but the blonde didn't say a word, didn't move. Assuming Cole wouldn't answer, Rhys leaned forward to take his queen when Cole murmured so softly and almost unintelligibly, "Ember."

"Ember?" Rhys asked, not sure if that was the name Cole had whispered so quietly, so wistfully.

Cole gave one small nod of his head, eyes fixed upon the chessboard.

Rhys studied Cole's expression as he asked, "What happened to her?"

Cole looked away to stare out the window, staring up at the endless expanse of stars that dotted the night sky. He was quiet for a long time, the expression on his face one Rhys had never seen before.

"Cole? Did you hear me?"

"Look at all the stars. They are so very far away." The words escaped Cole on an exhaled sigh full of wistful longing. "The brightest one of them is gone."

Rhys didn't understand, but he found he usually didn't understand most of what Cole said. "Was she transferred to a different circle?" Rhys guessed.

"She was never in the circle," Cole answered simply, not looking at him, still staring out the window.

"She was an… an apostate?"

Cole nodded, staring up at the night sky. "She doesn't like walls. She likes to sleep under the stars."

Rhys shifted in his seat. "So, she was in the dungeons? When you saw her, that is?"

Cole nodded again, absently, while he watched one finger draw on the frost on the window.

"Was she made… Tranquil?"

Cole's finger stopped in its drawing. "She bears the mark, but not the curse."

Rhys' eyebrows drew together. "I don't know what that means."

Cole's gaze met his, his expression perplexed. "You can't stop a star from shining."

Rhys crossed his arms. "Cole, you need to work on your speech. You always speak in riddles. It's frustrating."

Cole returned to drawing on the frost on the window. "I'll try."

Rhys' fingers drummed on his arms. "So, what happened to her?"

Cole sighed as he looked at the picture he'd drawn, which Rhys noticed was a heart-shaped face with large eyes framed by long curly hair. "She… went away." The words sounded forced from his throat.

Rhys studied Cole's bleak and dismal expression, seeing the longing in his eyes as he spoke of the girl. "You could search for her, you know?"

Cole's eyes grew dark and unreadable. "If she's alive and safe, then she should stay away."

"Nothing is keeping you here," Rhys suggested gently. "You could find her if-"

"The last time she saw me she didn't want to look at me," Cole cut in sharply, his voice harsh with self-loathing, eyes flashing. "She saw a monster." His gaze returned to the window, though Rhys could see a muscle working in his tightly clenched jaw. "Let her forget."

Rhys placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands, resting his chin on top of them. "Is that what you really want?"

"No," Cole growled, low and harsh in his throat. "What I _want_ is for her to remember me, to take that little piece of me with her…" His fingers pressed against the window, straining white against the glass, so much so that Rhys could hear the glass creak beneath the pressure. "I want some part of me, even if it is just my memory, to always be with her." Cole's head snapped back to the window, his jaw sawing back and forth, his eyes flinty in the moonlight as he irritably wiped away the picture he'd drawn on the frost.

Rhys was quiet for a while, unsure of Cole's mood. He'd never seen the young man act like this. "She was special to you."

"Special?" Cole asked, uncomprehending.

"Yes. You know, someone who means a lot. That's what she is to you, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's like…" Cole chewed his lip as he tried to put a difficult thought into words. "Do you remember the first puzzle we made together?"

"Yes."

"Remember how we couldn't find one of the pieces? How we searched and searched for it, but we couldn't find it? It was almost as if it didn't want to be found. But without that one piece, the rest of the puzzle couldn't be finished."

Rhys shook his head, uncomprehending. "I don't see how that relates to-"

"Without her, I'm not complete," Cole whispered, his eyes tortured, his expression forlorn.

Rhys' heart wrenched and he put a comforting hand on the young hand's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Cole."

"It hurts." His voice was thick, eyes large and glistening beneath shaggy blonde hair. "When does it stop hurting?"

Rhys' smile was sad. "I think it never completely stops hurting, but it doesn't hurt as much in time."

Cole nodded, thinking on that. Rhys gave his shoulder a light squeeze and the corners of Cole's mouth lifted slightly. "Thank you for being my friend, Rhys."

"Thank you for being mine, Cole."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_9:40 Dragon_

_Kirkwall _

Crouched down on the balls of her feet with her elbows resting on her knees, hands dangling between her legs, Ember was perched on the rooftop of the Keep like a permanent fixture. The twenty-two year old surveyed Hightown from her spot on the roof of the Keep, the chill wind rustling her red curls as blue-green eyes watched the people gathered below.

The moon and stars were hidden behind a steady stream of clouds that left Hightown covered in a blanket of darkness. The dark clouds had been threatening snow all afternoon, the air heavy with anticipation of a winter storm, but nothing had materialized. It seemed the weather was as restless as her mood.

For the past three years she'd been the Left Hand of the Divine's apprentice and closest companion. She'd barely escaped the templars and the White Spire. She'd been barely alive when she'd finally tracked down Sister Nightingale in Valence. The Orlesian bard had taken her in and nursed her back to health. She'd taken care of her and protected her, keeping her identity as an apostate a secret.

Leliana had even sent a few of her people to the White Spire to destroy Ember's phylactery. But when they got there, they'd discovered someone had already destroyed it, along with every record of her. It was a miracle. No one would ever know she was a mage except for those who actually captured her. And Leliana, of course.

Ember's vow to never use magic was renewed after that. She promised herself she would never go back to the dungeons. She would rather die first. She only used her magic to conceal it from others, a skill she learned quickly was rare.

The Hero of Ferelden had been right when she'd told her that Sister Nightingale would give her life purpose. Leliana fed her, clothed her, put a roof over her head. She took her under her wing and trained her in the skills of a bard and a dualist. In time, Ember began to take on jobs and assignments for Leliana. Working for the Divine gave Ember purpose and something to believe in.

But after what had happened at the White Spire, Ember had retreated further into her shell. That last betrayal had cut the deepest. After a lifetime of betrayal by everyone she'd ever known, trust had become impossible. She kept to herself, only speaking to others when she had to. She lived alone. She ate alone. She went on missions alone. She was used to taking care of herself. She always had a dagger strapped to her calf and the instincts of a killer. It had taken years until she'd been able to let Leliana in, allowing the Orlesian bard to become her friend. Her only friend.

A cool midnight breeze blew, ruffling her clothes and her hair. Ember's eyes fell to Leliana. It was dark outside, but the full moon provided enough light for her to see the Left Hand of the Divine standing in front of the Keep with a large crowd of people. They all held candles, mourning the loss that had happened here exactly three years ago.

Ember watched as Leliana began to sing. The words were elven, but she understood them even so: they spoke of sorrow and loss. It was the most haunting and beautiful melody she'd ever heard. She suddenly remembered hearing it in the dungeons of the White Spire all those years ago, being sung by some lost soul.

Ember stood there on the rooftop of the Keep, brow knitted in confusion as the heart-wrenching melody floated up to where she sat on the roof of the Keep, rattling something loose in her mind. She suddenly dug into her tunic. From there she pulled out a small piece of parchment. She lifted the glowlamp sitting beside her and read it:

_His name is Cole. _

_He's not that old, perhaps twenty years. No more. _

_He has shaggy blond hair that hangs in front of his eyes and wears dirty leathers— perhaps the only clothes he owns. His eyes are blue, crystal clear, like melted ice. They are the most haunted eyes you've ever seen. He's tall and lean, as handsome as he is strange. _

_He was there when you were locked in the dungeons of the White Spire. He talked to you, he helped you, he protected you. He brought you ratatouille to cheer you up, he got you a book of poems, he made you the necklace you wear around your neck. You liked him, trusted him, cared for him. He was your first kiss. No other will be like it. _

_Nobody can see him, and those who do forget him. Just like you are doing right now. Remember the kiss. But also remember that he's the Ghost of the Spire. He killed a mage, an elven girl, right in front of your eyes. He said he'd done it before. He said he did it to feel alive. He most likely will again._

_Cole was your first love._

_Cole is a demon. _

Ember lowered the parchment, closing her eyes and trying to cling to the memory. The kiss in the dungeons. She remembered everything about it – every touch of his hand, every brush of his lips, every breath he'd stolen from her. She remembered how she trembled, how her blood rushed in her veins, how weak she'd felt. But Cole himself slipped past her mind's eye. She couldn't see his face, or hear his voice. But she wanted to. Desperately. Though she shouldn't, she knew, as her eyes returned to the one word that stood out the most on the parchment.

_Demon_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_9:40 Dragon _

_The White Spire_

A single man entered his dark and cold chambers in the White Spire Tower. A single candle burned on a nightstand beside an almost empty bottle of lyrium. Rain fell lightly on the roof above his head as he began to remove his templar armor.

The White Spire Tower had been his home for many years. As he'd grown as a man within its walls, so did his hatred for magic. He took pride in leashing the mages. He also took great joy in joining some of the templar hunters as they hunted down apostates, despite his title as Knight-Commander.

The White Spire had disbanded along with all of the other circles. All because of his own senior enchanter, Rhys, and that templar traitor Evangeline. But with the Circle of Magi no more, Lord Seeker Lambert had declared the Nevarran Accord null and void. Neither the Seekers of Truth nor the Templar Order now recognized Chantry authority. Lord Seeker Lambert was currently assembling an army and the pathetic mage rebellion would be crushed. Knight-Commander Eron couldn't be happier. He was glad to be apart of the destruction of the mages.

Knight-Commander Eron finished removing his armor and crawled into his bed, his sword resting against the bed's frame beside him. As sleep slowly came, he became aware of a sinister aura radiating from somewhere in the shadows of his room. His ears perked up as he heard the faintest creak of a loose wooden floorboard.

Immediately he reached for his sword by the bed, but before he could reach it something was upon him. A rough hand shoved him back down and he sucked in a sharp breath when he felt the cold steel of a dagger's blade press against his throat.

Eron's blood ran cold as he stared up into the stone cold face of a menacing young man with shaggy blond hair that hung into eyes of hardened blocks of blue ice. He recognized the intruder. The intruder matched the description Lord Seeker Lambert gave him of the demon calling itself the Ghost of the Spire.

"Demon," the Knight-Commander spat, and winced in pain as the blade pressed against his flesh.

The demon leaned close, a dangerous lethality coating the air around him. "You were the one who captured her. Beaten, bloodied, bruised, and starving you brought her here to be chained in blackness. To break her spirit you gave him her key, knowing he'd do to her what he did to all the others. But unbreakable, indomitable was she. Ink to paper you signed her name beside Tranquil. But you can't extinguish starlight, just as you can't cage a dragon."

"Lord Seeker Lambert knows about you!" Eron spat, the words sticking to the dry walls of his mouth. "He won't stand for this!"

"He was first." The demon's voice was so quietly deadly, Eron's insides flinched. There was no denying it. Right then, the infernal looking young man was the most dangerous, terrifying being Eron had ever encountered.

"W-What do you want from me?" Eron stammered.

The demon's upper lip curled, bearing white teeth that gleamed in the dim light the candle threw off. "I want you to look into my eyes."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_9:41 Dragon _

_Haven_

"…and then Alistair turned bright red with embarrassment. It was so adorable." Leliana giggled behind her glass of wine as she lay on her stomach on the bed in the room she'd rented for the night.

"And _that's_ the king of Ferelden? Maker, help us all," Ember laughed as she lay on her back on the floor in front of the bed, her fiery red curls spread out around her head, and her glass of wine resting on her stomach.

Many people mistook the two women for sisters, what with their similar hair color, facial features, and eye color. But Ember's red hair was much longer, reaching the middle of her back, and was a wild mass of thick untamable curls while Leliana's was short and straight. Ember's eyes were a swirl of blues and greens, tempestuous like the ocean, while Leliana's were a cool, serene blue. Ember's facial features weren't as soft or delicate or comely as Leliana's. Ember's skin wasn't milky-white like the Orlesian bard's either, but rather was sun-kissed and dusted with light freckles. Ember's body was athletic with slender muscles and slight feminine curves as opposed to the Left Hand's soft hourglass frame and voluptuous figure. Leliana was also known as being one of the most gorgeous women in all of Orlais, while Ember was usually overlooked by men, not known for her beauty but for her fierceness in battle.

"Is something wrong, sweeting?" Leliana asked, worried. "You look more dour than usual."

"I'm worried," Ember confessed. "I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen at the conclave tomorrow."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because tomorrow is my birthday." Ember's expression was troubled. "Bad things always happen on my birthday." Aquamarine eyes met deep sapphire blue. "Do I really have to go tomorrow?" she whined.

"We've gone over this, sweeting. You're the best one to protect the Divine. You're now an exceptional rogue, but you are also a mage. You'll be able to sense if there is anything magically wrong." At Ember's pout, Leliana gave her an assuring smile. "You'll be fine."

Ember nodded, but the crease between her eyebrows didn't go away.

"Can I ask you something personal, sweeting?" Leliana inquired with a mischievous look.

Ember groaned. "Oh Maker, I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Have you ever been kissed?" Leliana asked with a wicked glance as she sipped her wine.

Ember choked on her own wine. "W-What?"

"Oh, don't be so shy, sweeting." Leliana giggled at the younger woman's blush. "You must have been kissed by now, no?"

"I had to kiss that elderly noble man on that one mission, remember? Bluck," Ember muttered, shaking her head, her expression pinched as if she tasted something bad in her mouth.

Leliana's eyes rolled. "I mean like a _real_ kiss."

Ember found herself thinking once again of the shockingly powerful kiss of Cole. The strange, soul-shattering kiss she had received from the young man who was the Ghost of the Spire, lived in her memory like a rose preserved between the pages of a book.

At her continued silence, Leliana looked at Ember over the top of her wine glass, blue eyes dancing with impishness. "Tell me, has Cullen gathered enough courage to kiss you yet?"

Leliana chuckled as Ember's eyes widened and her mouth dropped in surprise, her curls shifting with the shaking of her head.

Leliana shook her head and sighed. Not in a disappointed way, but in a "we have a lot ahead of us" sort of way. "That poor little templar needs to grow some backbone when it comes to women."

Leliana's gaze returned to Ember and she snorted. "Oh, do not tell me you haven't noticed the way he watches you?" Leliana giggled at Ember's shocked expression. "Every time you look away, he stares at you with longing eyes."

"I had no idea." Ember's expression became vexed. "Great, now that I know, it will be really awkward around him."

Leliana's head tilted. "Has there been no one else?"

Ember frowned at her. "I'm not some great beauty like you, Leliana. Men do not throw themselves at my feet. They barely notice me."

"That does not mean you haven't locked lips with a few, no?"

Ember sighed as she tapped her finger on her glass. "The stable boy in Val Royeaux kissed me once. It was completely by surprise."

"No!" Leliana gasped. "Daylen?"

"Yup," Ember answered with a grimace. "It was terrible. He shoved his tongue so far down my throat that I gagged. Disgusting."

"That is terrible." Leliana frowned. "Maybe you haven't had a good kiss because you've been kissing the wrong sort?"

Ember raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying, dearest Leliana, that I should be kissing girls?"

Leliana's lips quirked. "Why not? It might be a solution to your little problem. You won't know until you try, no?"

Ember sighed. "I don't think that's it."

Leliana eyed her strangely. "Have you really never had a good kiss, sweeting? Not one?"

Ember hesitated. "There was… but it wasn't really a kiss."

"Oh?" Leliana's head lifted with interest. "And what was it?"

Ember sighed wistfully, unable to keep the longing from her voice. "Whatever it was… it was _heart-stopping_."

"Ooohh," Leliana squealed girlishly, full of excitement, as she sat up and sat cross legged on the bed. "Tell me everything."

Ember shook her head. It was wholly unnerving how the memory still haunted her five years later. "It was just a dream."

"Oh, come on. Who was he?" Leliana urged.

Ember stared dolefully up at the ceiling of the bedchamber. "A ghost."

Leliana's stilled. "What do you mean?"

Ember bit her bottom lip. "He wasn't real."

Leliana's eyebrows furrowed. "Was he… imaginary? Like an imaginary friend?"

Ember's face hardened. "He was no friend of mine." Her blue-green eyes were more green as she turned her head on the floor and they clashed with Leliana's blue. "He was a murderer."

"So am I," Leliana pointed out. "So are you."

"That's different. We kill because we have to. He killed…" Ember's jaw tightened and her eyes flashed with anger and deepened with pain before she averted her gaze to stare up at the ceiling again.

"What?" Leliana pressed gently when she didn't continue.

Ember had to swallow a few times before she found her voice, and when she spoke, her words were soaking with bitterness and old pain. "He killed because he _liked_ it. It made him feel _alive_." Her fingers tightened on her glass. "And the worst part is I trusted him," she ground out. "I thought he was my friend. We talked about everything. I could tell him anything. I told him things I've never told anyone and he always understood. He never—" She stopped because, even as mellow as the wine was making her feel, she didn't want to share on this particular topic.

Leliana tossed her hand in the air. "Well, there you go. That's why you haven't had a good kiss."

Ember's head rolled on the floor toward the bard. "Huh?"

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Because you're still hung up on him, this ghost of yours. It's obvious, no?"

Ember bit her lip and looked at her wine glass, watching the red liquid. Leliana was wrong. Cole was nothing more than an old memory, deadened by time and tears. "He's merely an unwanted ghost in my dreams."

Leliana was quiet for a while. "Does this ghost of yours have a name, sweeting?"

Ember's face twisted with melancholy. It was hard to say his name out loud. Her lips did not want to form the word. "Cole," she finally forced herself to whisper, the name coming out on an uneven breath.

"Do you think you'll ever see this Cole again?"

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "I don't know. I don't think so."

Ember's face was still and her expression sorrowful yet wistful, and in such vulnerable repose Leliana felt a rush of sympathy for the young woman. "I'm sorry, sweeting."

"Don't be." Her voice was low and thick. "It was no more than a dream."

**Author's Note**: The note Ember writes to herself to remember Cole is similar to the one Evangeline writes. There is a codex of it in the game. Also, Cole kills the White Spire's Knight-Commander in a way similar to how he kills Lord Seeker Lambert. The next chapter will take place during the events of Dragon Age 3.


	8. Chapter 8 - In Your Heart Shall Burn

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Part III - The Herald of Andraste**

**Chapter 8 – In Your Heart Shall Burn**

_Though all before me is shadow_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide_

_I shall not be left to wander_

_The drifting roads of the Beyond_

_For there is no darkness in the Maker's light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_

_- Trials 1:14_

_9:41 Dragon _

_Haven _

The Herald of Andraste laid on her back on the roof of the Chantry in Haven, hands behind her head, staring up at the endless expanse of stars that dotted the night sky. The bleak winter moon glistened off the pristine powder that covered the township of Haven. Moonlight skimmed the high edges of the snow-covered trees, brightening the sea of snow with its silvery light.

In the distance a coyote howled, the sound drifting to her on the winter breeze that smelled of ice. Her breath condensed in front of her face, snowflakes falling upon her, sticking to her eyelashes and reddening her cheeks. Long russet curls fanned around her head, still wet after having just bathed in the icy river that was nearby that cut through the Frostback Mountains. Others would be freezing, but the cold had never bothered her. She believed that exposure to the elements made you strong, made you able to withstand them when you needed to, when your life depended on it.

The twenty-three year old woman wore the uncomfortable, skin-tight beige outfit the Inquisition had given her along with her tan winter boots that were lined with fur. Her newly acquired obsidian armor was drying a few feet away after having been cleaned as well.

It was quiet up on the roof of the Chantry, peaceful even. The music and laughter from the celebration below was greatly muffled, leaving only the softly filtered sounds of nature to be heard amidst the sounds of merriment from below. The smell of wood burning and meat roasting drifted up to greet her along with the sound of logs popping in the heat of a fire.

Maker, she was utterly exhausted. She hadn't slept or eaten in thirty-six hours. But that was what life was like as the Herald of Andraste, which she felt was akin to treading water – continual motion without getting anywhere with the persistent threat of drowning looming threateningly over her head.

The Herald lifted her left hand in front of her face, studying the mark that was on her palm. Sometimes, like now, it was just a slanted green line cutting across her palm, almost like a green tattoo. But other times it glowed, bright emerald green, unknown power pulsing from it and shooting currents of pure energy through her system.

"Escaping already?" Cullen chuckled as he approached her on the roof.

The Herald sat up as she looked at him. "I'm not really one for parties," she replied, her breath billowing puffs of white mist in front of her face.

"Yeah. Me either," he replied as he slowly made his way across the roof toward her, sitting down beside her. The side of his body pressed against hers and she couldn't help but feel nervous and awkward with his closeness.

Ever since her conversation with Leliana the night before the conclave, Ember had decided to move on with her life and give Cullen a chance. They'd been shamelessly flirting for months now. They ate their meals together and spent the little amount of free time they had together. She liked Cullen. He was a nice man, if not a little obsessed with his work, and very handsome. Whenever he accompanied her on a trip to Val Royeaux, women swooned at the sight of him. She was very much aware of how much more attractive he was than her and it made her feel a little insecure and self-conscious.

The Herald looked at Cullen out of the corner of her, her eyes running over him, and she knew why she was attracted to him. He was tall and lean with blonde hair. But he wasn't tall enough or lean enough. His hair was too light a shade of blonde and cut too short. It wasn't thick enough, messy enough, and it didn't fall into his eyes. And his eyes… they were too small, too dark a color, the lashes not long enough or thick enough or sooty enough. His skin was too tan, his armor too heavy. He just wasn't-

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm," Cullen said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "The Breach is sealed. We've reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread." His eyes met hers. "What you did… it was amazing." He gave her a charming smile. "The things you've done… how do you do it?"

The Herald snorted. "Oh, you know, I put on my ugly, beige, big-girl pants one leg at a time."

Cullen laughed, the sound rich and warm. "You really hate that outfit, don't you?"

"Yes," Ember grumbled, fidgeting with the dreadful material. "It's too itchy and tight. And I hate beige."

Cullen's eyes met and held hers in the moonlight. "I think I could help you out of it," he suggested, his voice as sweet and rich as honey.

The Herald ducked her head to hide her blushing cheeks from him.

Seeing her blush, Cullen's eyes widened as he thought back on his wording and he began to stammer in mortification, "I-I… I meant into another outfit, of course. Not out of the one you are in. Well, maybe one day… I mean… wait, that's not what I meant… what I meant to say was… oh Maker, I'll just stop talking now."

They both returned to staring up at the stars, each embarrassed and blushing a furious shade of red. An owl hooted high above their heads as it took off from the branch it was perched on, the rustling of leaves echoing through the silence. They sat there in the moonlight, silent as the grave, for what seemed like an eternity.

"Ember…" Cullen's low voice broke the silence.

"Yes?" she asked as she turned to face him and was surprised to find him staring at her, his eyes a shade darker and his face set with resolve.

"I… I just…" He murmured. "…I just wanted to tell you that I… that I…"

The Herald opened her mouth to speak when his mouth came down and smothered her words. Her eyes were wide open, her body so rigid and stiff her muscles ached. She couldn't blink. She couldn't think. She couldn't respond to the lips that were currently gliding so expertly over her own, the stubble on his jaw scratching her skin. This was her fourth kiss and it was just as awkward as the two before it.

Before she could break the kiss, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as the light of the moon was suddenly blocked by something in the sky, casting the entire rooftop in complete darkness. A wave of unspeakable dread rushed over her as she caught the glint of onyx metallic scales in the night sky.

Realization dawned on her and it sent a chill down her spine that rippled throughout her entire body, her chest rising and falling quickly with her mounting fear.

With a wrenched cry, the Herald tore her mouth away from Cullen's and cried, "Dragon!"

"WHAT?!" Cullen exclaimed, his eyes jerking up to frantically search the sky before his mouth fell open in shock.

They balked as they watched a massive, scaly, black-skinned torso circle the Inquisition stronghold. The dragon roared as it spread its wings wide and floated over the heads of the Inquisition agents, mages of the mage rebellion, refugees, and Haven citizens celebrating in the courtyard in front of the Chantry. The bard's fingers fell dissonantly from the strings of her lute and an ominous silence fell upon the crowd as everyone looked toward the night sky.

And then all hell broke loose.

Everyone was screaming and scrambling, alarms were ringing, the mages' hands beginning to crackle with magic. Thankfully, the dragon flew away, heading for the mountain.

"Forces are approaching!" Cassandra yelled up at them. "To arms!"

They were on their feet in an instant. "We must get to the gates!" Cullen told her.

"So, celebratory drinks are on hold?" she quipped as she began donning her still wet armor while Cullen shouted commands down to the Inquisition soldiers below.

"Time for some thrilling heroics," the Herald sighed as she slid down the ladder, Cullen behind her, and together they rushed to the gates.

As she ran through the camp, she could hear the sound of swords crashing against swords over the walls. As the clang of sword against sword grew louder in her ears, she began hearing screams of death carried on the howling wind alongside flurries of snow. Adrenaline began coursing through her as she drew closer to the gates and the sounds of the battle grew louder. She could smell the metallic scent of blood, the tang of hot metal, and the acrid sweat of fear. As they approached the gates, she saw Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine waiting for them.

"Cassandra?" Cullen asked immediately as they skidded to a stop.

"It's an army!" Cassandra exclaimed as she pointed to the mountain. "One watch guard reporting it's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

"None."

"None?!"

"Where are the rest?" The Herald asked, searching for the others.

"Fighting," Leliana replied. "They're keeping whoever it is that's attacking from getting in."

"Was that a dragon?" Cullen asked, astounded. "I could have sworn it looked more like an-"

"Archdemon," Leliana supplied. "Yes, I thought so too."

"Whatever it is, it's cut a path for that army," Cassandra replied.

There was a loud banging on the front gate and the Herald jumped, startled by the loud sound right beside her.

"I can't come in unless you open!" a man yelled urgently through the door.

"Someone's out there! They need help!" she cried as she ran forward to open the gate.

"Herald, wait! It could be a trap!" Cullen yelled after her, but she'd already opened the gate.

She ran forward and came to a skidding halt in the snow as she watched an enemy's words turn into a gurgle of blood in his mouth as the tip of a blade exploded from the enemy's chestplate, right over his heart. The enemy toppled forward face-first to the snow, revealing the man's killer - a young human man in rough leathers with skin as pale as the moon, shaggy blonde hair hanging over his eyes, and fresh blood sprayed across the sharply carved angles of his face.

Her body automatically moved into a defensive stance as the young man approached her, crouched low and cautious, his body moving with the lithe type of grace found in the most dangerous predators. The fires from the nearby burning buildings blazed around him, casting their dancing shadows upon him, illuminating him in a soft glow. He was dangerous, she knew, for he held a wicked-looking dagger at the ready that was covered in blood and dozens of dead bodies surrounded him, his victims she assumed, and the air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood.

Blue-green eyes traveled over him with keen interest. There was something about him that seemed oddly familiar, like he was someone she should know. Someone important. While she searched her memory for recognition, the young man's chin slowly lift and his eyes opened into hers.

Haunted, haunted eyes.

_His name is Cole_.

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. Her surroundings, the Inquisition, the sounds of the battle and her advisors' chatter coming from the gates, just fell away in that moment. Her chest constricted as she fell head first into those deep blue pools of liquid azurite glittering in the firelight. Moving, breathing, thinking - impossible. She tried to drag in a breath, struggling for air while her heart was a staccato beat against her ribcage.

"Cole?" She hadn't realized she'd spoken until she heard the sound of her own voice saying his name in a low, breathy whisper.

"You… you remember me," he murmured quietly, his relief palpable, his gaze so soft on her face it made her heart stand still.

_Remember the kiss_.

It all came back to her in a rush, her thoughts spinning backward in time to five years ago.

Cole closed the last remaining distance between them and the knot in her stomach swelled, pressing on her lungs. Her voice abandoned her. She fumbled for words that did not come. It was not possible, not with the way he was looking at her. Cole was staring at her - _into_ _her_ – his gaze reaching into her own and pulling out her very soul.

Her lips parted on a silent gasp as he leaned into her, sucking up all the air she was already having trouble grasping. "I knew you wouldn't forget," he breathed, a puff of white mist forming in front of his mouth that fell onto her own before she breathed it in, too many emotions in his voice and face to define his expression or thoughts.

"Get away from her!" Cullen barked as he appeared beside her, his sword thrust forward toward Cole.

Cole scrambled back from her, his eyes not leaving the sword in Cullen's hand that was pointed threateningly at him.

"Stop!" She cried without thinking, and lunged toward Cullen, grabbing his sword.

"Get back, Herald. This creature is not what you think."

"I am me," Cole answered simply, eyes inscrutable. "My name is Cole."

_Cole is a demon._

The memories struck her then like a blow to her vitals. The memories of the last time she'd seen Cole - of him slaughtering that innocent mage girl - washed over her like waves of broken glass, each one stinging and leaving behind a laceration. An old wound long buried was suddenly ripped open inside of her. The hurt was still raw and fresh even after all these years, an unhealed wound festering inside her.

Her expression slowly darkened and twisted, transforming into a withering glare as she turned it upon Cole, and asked tartly, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Anguish shadowed his face, and those absurdly long lashes lowered over his eyes. "I know you don't want me here," Cole uttered in a small voice. "But I had to come. I had to warn you. To help," he explained urgently. "People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

Her brow became creased with deep lines, her mouth pulling tight. "What is this? What's going on?"

Cole moved closer to her. "The templars come to kill you." Her heart gave a fierce jolt at his low, husky murmur.

"Templars?" Cullen questioned, looking at her. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"These templars are different," Cole answered ominously. "They are red inside."

Cullen's gaze snapped to Cole. "What the hell does that mean?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One," Cole replied before turning to her. "You know him. He knows you. You took his mages." Cole's expression turned grim. "He's very angry that you took his mages."

A red templar rogue appeared out of a puff of smoke behind her, daggers raised. With a flick of his wrist, Cole sent a small dagger whizzing through the air before it flew straight through the side of the red templar's helmet, impaling itself in his temple. It completely tore into his skull, blood running out of his blood red eyes, killing him instantly. His body hit the ground behind her with a dull thud.

"We need to get inside the gates, it's not safe out here in the open!" Cullen yelled and the three of them ran inside, the gates closing behind them with a loud creak.

The Herald turned on the ex-templar. "Cullen, give me a plan. Anything!"

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "Haven is no fortress. Our positioning is not good. They'll kill everyone in Haven."

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole cut in. Ice blue orbs flickered to lock on hers, brutal in their intensity. "He only wants _her_."

She averted her gaze to stare up at the mountain while a freezing wind blew from the north, a gust of flurry and ice. "If it will save these people, he can have me."

"He can't have you," she heard Cole murmur in a deadly whisper, his voice taut. "Besides, it won't help. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he'll crush them. He'll kill them anyway." Cole shuddered. "I don't like him."

Cullen was staring at Cole as if he'd grown two heads. "You don't like…?" Cullen exhaled sharply in exasperation, as if the sentence wasn't worth finishing, then turned to face her. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that could slow them down would be to turn the remaining trebuchets."

"But we're overrun," she countered. "To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."

Cullen's expression turned solemn. "We're dying, but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

Silence engulfed them then, a silence filled with ominous tension. Cole was looking at the Chantry doors where Chancellor Roderick was leaning heavily on Dorian's shoulder, his hand pressed against his stomach that appeared soaked with blood. "Chancellor Roderick knows a path. You wouldn't know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage as he has," Cole stated before looking at Cullen. "He is in the Chantry now. Dying. But he can show you the way. The people can escape."

"What about it, Cullen?" she asked.

Cullen stared at her, aghast. "You're not honestly suggesting we listen to _it_?"

She frowned. "Just answer me. Could it work?"

Cullen rubbed his chin as he thought. "Possibly. If what _it_ says is true and Chancellor Roderick shows us the path."

She nodded. "Good. I want you leading the way with Chancellor Roderick."

"What about _it_?" Cullen asked with a nod of his head toward Cole.

They both turned to the young man, but found nothing but air.

"Hold on… where did it go?" Cullen asked. His eyes shifted to her. "Are you all right, Herald?" he asked with concern. "You're trembling like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," she replied sharper than she meant to. She softened her voice. "We're running out of time, Cullen. You need to get these people out of here."

Cullen's eyes left hers for a second before returning. "Which companions do you want to take with you?"

"None."

"None?"

"I will not ask the others to die."

"But… what of you? What of your escape?"

She looked away from him, not wanting him to see the truth she knew showed upon her face.

_There is no escape for me._

The thought left a desolate coldness lingering in her bones. She could feel the weight of hundreds of innocent lives weighing on her shoulders, crushing her under its weight. Something inside her sobbed at the injustice of it all. She really did have the worst sort of luck.

But then a strange sensation overcame her. It was calming. It was warm. It comforted her in a peculiar way. Her death may be imminent, but it would not be in vain. Courage coursed through her then, soon accompanied by strength. She would not stand by and watch her new friends, the Inquisition, the mages, the refugees, and the innocent people of Haven suffer and die merely because she was too scared to protect them, too scared to face death. She had to at least try.

_I'm going to die._

The Herald took a deep breath and let that irrefutable fact settle in her chest, accepting it. It slid down slowly like a piece of ice into her stomach where it melted and chilled her from the inside out, encasing her in ice, protecting her. She would not be a coward. By the Maker, her death would not be in vain!

"I'm meant for this." Determined, she lifted her head to meet Cullen's gaze, her aquamarine eyes flashing with power. "I'm not afraid."

Cullen stared at her, wavering somewhere between outrage, disbelief, and admiration. The Herald of Andraste was looking at him with quiet resolve, surprisingly calm for the card fate had dealt her. There was no fear in her blue-green eyes, not even a flicker of it. Grown men quivered in fear while staring into the face of death, but this young woman did nothing of the sort. Fear just seemed to piss her off more.

"Perhaps… you will surprise it and find a way," Cullen offered with hope ringing in his voice.

The Herald forced a smile. "You know me. I'm just full of surprises."

Cullen stepped toward her, hand outstretched as if he meant to touch her. "Ember…"

"Are the trebuchets loaded?" she asked, cutting him off as she stepped away from him.

Cullen's hand fell limply to his side. "Yes."

"Good. I'll keep the Elder One's attention until you're above the tree line. Once you're clear, give me the signal. And then I'll hit that force with everything I can."

Cullen nodded somberly. "If we are to have a chance, if _you_ are to have a chance, let that thing hear you."

Without another word, the Herald of Andraste spun and marched out the gates, letting them close behind her with a heavy note of finality.

The sight that greeted her was frightening. A wave of red templars were charging straight for her.

She was only one.

The Herald stood tall in her obsidian armor in front of the gates, her feet ice cold in the snow. It was quiet now, the stillness of the silence as unsettling as it was calming, the people either dead or taking sanctuary in the Chantry. The snow was cold and smelled of winter as it fell unremittingly from the endless blackness above. The wind howled wildly causing the trees to rustle violently and snow to rise from the ground, forming small whirlwinds that danced along the open expanse of whiteness that covered the ground in front of her.

She took a deep breath and inhaled the crisp winter air. She was alone. There was no one to see her for what she was – a _mage_ - and condemn her for it, or imprison her. Here, now, in her final hour she could unleash upon them everything she had, hold nothing back. She could be free. Herself. Allow the gift she was born with, the gift the Maker gave her, out of its cage for the first time in five years and show these red templars just what a mage could _really_ do.

She reached her mind across the Veil and fire curled around her fists, the air crackling with magic. Power licked her spine, tingling in its wake. A thrill zipped through her system, sparking parts of her to life she'd long thought dead. She smiled up at the stars, snowflakes falling from a black sky to land lightly upon her cheeks and out stuck tongue. Instantly she felt better, happier, than she had in years. The freedom to be oneself was the greatest feeling in all the world. If she was to die, she would die who she was and she would take these red templars with her, one last bow before the curtain fell.

The red templars were closer now, their weapons raised high, some already coated with the blood of innocents and mages. Ember's chin tucked, her eyebrows slashing low over her greenish blue eyes as dark crimson curls framed her heart-shaped face. The corners of her mouth slowly pulled into a wicked smirk. "Time to get loud."

Her hands slowly lifted in front of her body, fire crackling around them. Manipulated flames licked from the air by her hands, splitting madly and racing through the air to greet the approaching enemy. With a shout she threw her hands forward and deadly fire rained down on the red templars - men burned, screaming horribly, while flames bit and burned at their armor and skin.

A few red templars got through. She pulled her daggers from their hilts and spun them once in her hands as she had come accustomed to doing before a fight, but this time she summoned flames to coat the steel. With sleek litheness, Ember rushed forward to meet them, her blades on fire.

"Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame…"

With a flick of her wrists, she sent both daggers flying forward toward the closest templars. One lodged itself in one's Adam's apple, the other driving into one's chest. She kept running and yanked her daggers out of the templars' bodies before they hit the ground, her steps never slowing, never faltering.

"Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side."

A dozen of templars rushed her and she spun around to face them, her long red curls wrapping around her slim stomach, the words of an enchantment falling from her lips. A traveling cyclone of lightning emerged and spun towards the group of templars, sucking them into the destructive force, spinning them and electrocuting them. The smell of burnt flesh and screams filled her senses, but she paid them no heed.

She didn't think. She just moved.

After a few attacks and blocks, red templars surrounded her, rushing her, and she spun in a tight circle, daggers extended, slashing at anything that came close to her.

Ten bodies fell at her feet.

A sword came slashing downward and she dodged before snapping her wrist forward, flicking her dagger at the templar's shoulder like a whip. The point of her dagger passed through his shoulder and he stumbled backward. She ripped the blade free and ducked under a swinging axe before coming up to lodge her dagger in the man's ribcage, the steel of the blade puncturing his heart.

An arrow came whizzing toward her and the Herald side flipped out of its path. The archer pulled another arrow from her quiver and aimed, but before she could release the arrow, the Herald rose and simultaneously lifted a smaller dagger from her belt and with a flick of her wrist sent it flying, the small dagger imbedding itself in the archer's throat.

The Herald heard the sound of lowly muttered words and she spun around to find a Tevinter mage muttering a spell as he extended his arm toward her. She dove to her right, avoiding the jet of sparks that shot from the sorcerer's fingertips. She threw her hand out in front of her and a ball of fire flew out of it, hitting the mage square in the chest and burning him alive.

Waves of soldiers rushed her, but Ember was faster. Her movements were graceful as she feinted and dodged, her attacks swift and powerful. She drew on every lesson Leliana had taught her, relying on the bard's words like a lifeline. Everything was a blur. Her mind was numb, body moving on pure instinct as her daggers slashed into the bodies that surrounded her, her hands moving to quick for her own eyes to follow. Blood sprayed across her armor, splashing across the snow turning it crimson, corpses filling the field of battle around her, the ranks of the red templars visibly thinning before her eyes.

But then another wave came. And then another. And then another.

Maker help her, they just kept coming. They were endless.

One templar tackled her to the ground but she swiftly lashed out with a spell, flinging the attacker back into a tree with enough force to shatter his bones. Another was already upon her, but she was on her feet in a flash, swinging her blades up into his chest with all of the force she could muster. Her blades tore through his armor and sunk into his flesh with a sickening thud that vibrated all the way up to her shoulders. She gave the daggers one more shove, driving them in to the hilt. Blood gushed from the wounds and onto her hands.

She pulled the daggers free right as a sword sliced across her shoulder from behind. She hissed in pain and brought her head around, using her long hair to her advantage. The heavy mass of curls slapped across the templar's face, granting her a distraction that allowed her to plunge her dagger into his exposed neck. One sword came swinging toward her in a whistling cut at her face and she was forced to bend backward to avoid it, like a dancer sliding under a pole.

When her back snapped straight the assault came without warning. A hard-knuckled fist smashed against her soft right cheek. Reeling sideways, she staggered, mouth open, blood flowing from a torn lip. The kick of a steel-toed boot rammed into her diaphragm. She doubled over in agony, unable to breathe. Her chest muscles squeezed painfully as she tried to suck in oxygen. A crushing blow to the face twisted her backward onto the snow. Spatters of warm, red blood gushed from her mouth and nose as the back of her head cracked against the ground. The Herald groaned in pain, her mouth open and bloody. The world was spinning around her, her body and mind lost in a stuporous daze.

She dug deep down into the reserves of mana within her, deeper than she ever had before. With a cry, she held up her hands and unleashed a torrent of magic. The wave of force that expanded from her sent every red templar flying back, as if they weighed nothing. Every building in Haven shook, and for a single moment she felt exhilarated. The mark on her hand was glowing bright green. The power… it was like nothing she had ever tapped into before. It flowed through her veins, filling her up. It would be so easy to do more. The strange power of the mark was at her fingertips, beckoning her to use it for the first time. She'd only ever used the mark to close the rifts, but it wanted to do more. So much more.

With a cry, the Herald of Andraste threw her hand forward and green sparks flew from it as the Veil tore and a rift formed above the heads of at least fifty red templars. Screams, loud and shrill, was all she could hear as they were sucked into the Fade, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The rift closed in on itself and the Herald fell to her knees in the snow, breathing hard from the exertion and the power. She looked down at the mark on her hand, utterly amazed she'd been able to form her own rift. She drew in deep breaths as she used the back of her hand to wipe the blood that was dripping into her eyes from the cut that split her eyebrow. Her tongue tenderly touched the split in her lip and tasted copper, her cheek already swollen from the blows to her face.

Knowing reinforcements would be upon her soon, she forced herself to her feet. A shiver of cold raced through her as she ran for the trebuchet. Snow illuminated white on the ground in front of her as her footsteps flew over the white powder. Soft pillows of snow bunched beneath her boots. Her scarlet curls caught the wind and whipped around her face, the bright red of her hair haunting against the milieu of snow that surrounded her. She looked over her shoulder as she ran to see another wave of red templars in the distance.

Once she reached the trebuchet, she threw a hand back behind her, muttering a spell Bethany Hawke had taught her. A sparkling wall of pure force rose up between them, the red templars slamming against it uselessly. She turned her back to them and quickly aimed the trebuchet.

Behind her, Knight-Captain Denam reached the wall of force. He channeled his own power, shattering it with a single blow of his sword. Hot pain flashed through her, but she didn't stop her task. With one last turn, the trebuchet was fully aimed for the mountain but before she could trigger it, a blast of force struck her. She was lifted off her feet, tumbling head over heels. With a grunt she landed on her stomach several feet away in the snow, and for a moment all was blackness.

The red templars were upon her in an instant, beating her with heavy metal boots, metal gauntlets, and sword hilts. She curled into herself, her screams muffled by the beating she was taking. She tried to summon mana, reached desperately down for power— anything at all— but her head and body only reeled in agony. Hot metal pierced her side and her throat released a pain-filled scream, and her fingers dug into the snow beneath her, fingers numb from the cold. She was overwhelmed with a familiar feeling - a creeping, aching, crawling feeling - that made her feel weak, worthless, utterly useless.

There was a sudden whooshing sound in the air above her, the sound of something moving very quickly in the air followed by the sound of the slashing of clothes and flesh. She looked up to find a dozen red templars fall dead around her, their throats slit.

Blue-green orbs widened as they landed on Cole crouched protectively in front of her. His eyebrows were pulled low and tight over dark-fringed, stormy blue eyes as piercing as a feral wolf's as they surveyed the approaching red templars with the promise of death.

Shock and panic rose quickly within her. "Cole…?" she whispered, her voice dry and cracking, her breath billowing puffs of white mist in front of her face.

"I won't let them kill you." His voice was low and rasping, the words sounding as if they'd been dragged up from the depths of his chest. Anger wasn't even close to what she saw on his face - it was much scarier.

One of the red templars gave a signal and the rest charged them at once. She tried to summon mana, but she had nothing left. With nimble dexterous fingers, Cole spun the daggers expertly in his hands before he became nothing more than a flicker in the moonlight. The only warning the red templars got was his blades flashing with lethal intent before they delivered death.

The Ghost of the Spire striked so suddenly and moved so fast he was just a blur of movement, and sometimes nothing at all, as he appeared and disappeared behind his enemies out of nothing but air. He would materialize behind a templar, and then there would be a flashing of steel and the spraying of blood as he attacked his unsuspecting victim. Then, in the blink of an eye, he would vanish into thin air just as quickly as he appeared. He was fast, so fast, and the red templars weren't able to follow him, and neither was she. He was like a shark moving amidst clueless swimmers. Unseen. Cold-blooded. Deadly.

Her breath caught as one very large templar shouted and charged at Cole from behind, double-handed sword raised over his head. She was about to call out a warning when Cole spun around and threw one dagger at the man. The point of the blade sank into the massive man's gut and the man stumbled back, staring down in shock at the blood-soaked steel sticking out of his stomach.

Cole turned and landed a swift kick to an approaching templar's stomach and the man doubled over. Cole rolled across the man's bent over back and pulled a hidden dagger from his boot while he did so. Cole stood and with a flick of his wrist sent the dagger flying into the Adam's apple of the archer that was aiming an arrow at his heart.

Cole rushed forward and ripped his dagger out of the massive man's stomach, who was still staring dumbfounded at the blade sticking out of his gut. Cole spun on the balls of his feet in the snow, using the momentum to cut the massive man's head from his shoulders, his head rolling off his bulky shoulders to land with a thud in the snow before the rest of his body followed.

The only sound that echoed around her was the clang of metal, the grunts of pain, the rasping of effort, and the whimpering of death. Sweet Andraste, Cole was the best damned killer she'd ever laid her eyes on. He killed with such deadly, silent efficiency, giving nothing but taking everything.

The Ghost of the Spire swiftly brought his daggers up to deflect the two swords aimed for his head and a ringing clang of metal hitting metal echoed in the clearing where the battle was taking place. Cole shoved the swords away and lunged forward, slashing his daggers across both their throats, cutting through bone and muscle. In an instant, flesh tore and blood sprayed. Both men's hands wrapped around their weeping throats before they crumbled to the snow. Cole spun to the right to bring his dagger up to meet a sword's downswing and shoved it away. With unimaginable speed, Cole spun back to check one sword with his dagger before whirling away from a second. He ducked under a blade swiping at his neck and drove his own deep into the man's stomach, intestines spilling out onto the snow. The man toppled as Cole smoothly pulled his dagger free to block another man's feint. He twisted smoothly and easily deflected a thrust and brought the point of his blade forward to ram into the man's exposed gut before embedding it in the ribcage of the last remaining templar.

A war cry beside her caused her eyes to snap from Cole to the red templar who was running toward her with his sword extended. Before she could arm herself, Cole seemed to impossibly flicker behind the man and sever his jugular with a clean swipe of his dagger.

Wide-eyed she stared at the corpse at Cole's feet before her eyes lifted to his face to find him watching her with great intensity. He didn't look away when she stared back at him. Those intense blue orbs held hers, the shadows within them whispering words to her she could not hear, before they flickered down to stare fixatedly at the gash in her armor where bright red blood was pouring out of the stab wound she'd received and spilling into the snow around her. A frisson of dread danced down her spine as she saw how much blood she'd lost, as a fair amount of the snow around her was stained crimson.

Cole bent over and put her arm around his shoulders while his arms went around her torso, and he gently eased her up. Ember hissed in pain but together they managed to get her to her feet. Once she was standing, she staggered a little from blood loss, and she had to lean heavily on Cole causing his arms to tighten around her middle.

A flare shot into the air above the tree line in the distance. The Herald sighed with relief. It was Cullen's signal. The people were free. They'd made it.

"We… have to get to the… the trebuchet… and trigger it…" she breathed heavily as he walked her to the trebuchet, her hand pressed firmly against the wound at her side to staunch the flow of blood. Maker, she'd given anything to know healing magic right now.

Snow crunched beneath their feet with each step they took, and after a few she murmured, "Cole?" She looked up at him as they shuffled forward, snow dusting her crimson curls and eyelashes.

Cole's chin turned fractionally toward her. Thick, tousled honeyed locks fell carelessly over his chiseled face and into eyes so clear a blue that she could see the tiny flecks of white that were sprinkled within those cool irises.

"Why are you here, Cole?" Her voice shook, carrying to him on a gentle gust of wind as he helped her walk. "Why didn't you escape with the others? Why did you stay behind? This is my time to… to…" Her voiced faded to nothing as the wind whipped flurries of snowflakes around them, over them, past them causing her long red curls to wrap around her slim waist.

Golden locks blew across his forehead with the winter breeze as those haunted eyes bored into her with that impenetrable intensity that rattled her nerves. "I promised that no one was ever going to hurt you."

A massive black dragon with black scales like sharpened scythes, claws like spears, and teeth like swords landed in front of them, causing a small shockwave to erupt from the beast that shook the ground and knocked them backward into the snow. The dragon unfurled its massive wings that blocked out the moon, casting everything beneath them in blackness. The beast raised his head to the midnight sky and let loose an earth-shattering roar that shook the ground. The dragon's head turned to them and sucked in a breath before unleashing hellfire.

The Herald dove to the right out of the path of the great jet of fire while Cole was forced to dive to the left. A wall of fire separated them, but she hardly noticed as a monster unlike any she'd ever seen stalked toward her out of the dragon's fire.

Maker, it was a towering humanoid creature tainted with the blight. The thing was huge, as tall as an ogre, with large chunks of molten stone or a mage's cowl sticking out the side of his gaunt face. The flesh of his torso was torn and missing, revealing pieces of bone and red sinewy muscle. A large protruding piece of black metal or armor was sticking out of his chest. The rest of his body was covered in what looked like ancient magister's robes and large black feathery pauldrons covered his bony shoulders. The monstrosity was mutated, skeletal, and grotesque. An evil transfigured creature spat up from the depths of hell.

Dread and terror settled heavy like stones in her belly as the creature approached her and the dragon roared at her back, blocking her retreat, jaws snapping at her.

"Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken no more," the atrocity growled at her in a low voice that rumbled down upon her like distant thunder. The Elder One cast his eyes upon her, as if judging her worth and finding it lacking. "Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name Herald. I am more than you could ever be."

"And what is that, exactly? A hurlock?" she retorted, scared out of her wits but refusing to show it. "You're a darkspawn. Dark…spawn…" she said the words slowly, stretching out the syllables as if he were dimwitted. "You know, ravaging the Deep Roads, spreading the Blight. Does this ring a bell?"

"Ignorant fool," he spat. "I am no mere darkspawn. Do you not see a god before you? Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus." A skeletal hand extended toward her with long black claws. "You will kneel."

Ember made sure to enunciate properly. She was in the presence of a false god, after all. "Go. To. Hell."

The chuckle that escaped him was dark, the sound like malevolence scraping against a blackboard of evil. "You shall be the one entering the Black City. As soon as I get what I came for, what you stole from me. I am here for the Anchor." Corypheus lifted an orb in his hand, red energy surrounding it. "The process of removing it begins now."

His ghastly hand extended toward her and the mark on her hand glowed bright green, power from the Fade swirling around her hand. White-hot pain burned bright behind her eyes. Ember screamed, the sound echoing around her as she fell to her knees in the snow. She could see her veins glowing emerald green beneath her skin.

"W-What is this thing?" she gasped.

"A tool to assault the very heaven."

"What is it meant to do?"

"Aid me in championing withered Tevinter and correcting this blighted world." A nasty, malevolent smile curved his mouth. "Beg that I succeed, for I have entered the Golden City, seeking the power of the gods themselves. But it was… black… corrupt."

The Herald felt a sharp jolt of dismay and horror surge through her. "You… you were one of the first darkspawn. It was you and your kind who trespassed into the Maker's city and brought the Blight down on all of us!"

"Do not speak to me of your Maker," Corypheus hissed at her. "I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty. You owe _me_ fealty."

Her face wrenched with anger, her aquamarine eyes shredding into his with their vehemence. "You are no god," she spat. "Your arrogance blinds you. I will enjoy humbling that pride of yours when my smile is the last thing you see on this earth before I separate your head from your pitiful body, just like any other mortal."

In the blink of an eye, he was upon her. His hand shot forward, elongated claws clamping tight and unyielding around her neck like an iron shackle as he lifted her easily off the ground. "The Anchor is permanent. You have ruined it with your stumbling."

Ember gasped and struggled for breath, her feet dangling above the ground, her punctured side raining droplets of blood that spattered the white snow on the ground beneath her.

"So be it. I will begin again. I will find another way to give this world the nation, and god, it requires."

She forced the words out past the hand on her throat. "My horse - is more god - than you."

"I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die." The creature vowed, eyes hard and uncompromising, knuckles white from his iron like grip on her neck.

Ember clawed at the immovable hand on her throat, wheezing, her face red and her eyes bulging under the forceful grip. Blackness fringed her vision as air refused to reach her lungs.

Suddenly, there was the tremendous grinding of chains and the loud creak of wood as someone unseen fired the trebuchet.

"What treachery is this?!" Corypheus bellowed as he turned to see that the trebuchet had hit its mark on the top of the mountain, the sharp movement causing him to drop the Herald in the process.

The Herald fell to the ground in a heap, clutching her throat and coughing as she gasped for air. She stumbled, pushing herself to her feet and pulling free the dagger she always kept strapped to her calf. Sweaty crimson curls blew across her face, her blue-green eyes burning like purgatory as she lifted the blade in her hand and rushed the false god while his back was turned.

A hand shot out and grabbed her hip from behind. With a sharp and powerful tug, she was yanked backward, her back colliding with the solid wall of a hard chest.

"No," she heard Cole whisper almost inaudibly in her ear. "It won't work, and you will die."

She tried to get away from him, tried to use the weapon on the Elder One, but Cole's fingers dug into her hipbone, holding her in place. When she continued to fight him, trying desperately to get free, his free hand came around her body to press against her belly and forced her back against him so she couldn't get away. Her heart lodged in her throat and her breathing came faster as his body pressed against her from behind.

Corypheus spun around to face them and every cell in her body stilled, waiting for the death she knew would come. But death did not come. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. The Elder One was seething his head whipping this way and that as he frantically searched for the threat he could not see.

Then she felt it: a power so faint she barely noticed it was there. It was a hush that surrounded her like a blanket, thick and smothering.

And it came from Cole.

She turned her head to look up at him and saw Cole's eyes clamped shut. He was concentrating hard, a trail of blood seeping out of his nose.

He was making them invisible, she realized.

"Cowardly mortal!" Corypheus screamed, his voice cracking with his anger.

Her gaze snapped back to Corypheus, afraid he'd seen them. Violence and rage emanated from the Elder One's mangled form in rippling dark waves, but he stared straight through them.

"Come out, Herald! I know you're there!"

She tried to hold her breath, not wanting the darkspawn to hear and locate them. But her breathing was erratic. It couldn't be helped. Her eyes clenched shut and her knees became weak as she smelled the heat that rose from Cole's skin that was laced with a potent mixture of leather, cinnamon, sweat, smoke, blood and something musky and male that was entirely _him_. His body was surrounding her in warmth, charging the air with thick unseen tension that was so tangible it split her nerves, fraying them with each pulsing second as they stood perfectly still in the snow.

While Corypheus searched for them, her heart began battering her ribs as she felt Cole shift behind her. A tremor shook her as hot breath fanned across the nape of her neck just over the brand of the Chantry's sunburst. He lingered there and then she heard his deep intake of breath and could feel the tip of his nose against her nape. Goosebumps erupted all over her arms and neck as his body pressed closer, the entire length of him molding to the back of her. A warmth like no other she'd ever felt before began to gather at the pit of her stomach before slowly spreading out to her limbs in a trail of fire.

With a roar of rage, Corypheus ordered a harsh command to the dragon and the beast lowered its wing to scoop him up before taking flight to the sky once more.

The Herald of Andraste stood still, unmoving, despite the Elder One's disappearance. Cole was close. So close. Too close. She couldn't think straight. Couldn't stop her head from spinning. Couldn't see clear. After a few deep breaths she was able to clear her mind somewhat and gather some of her scattered senses. It was then that she noticed something in the distance. It was dark out, nothing but the full moon shinning against the midnight sky, casting a silver aura on the whiteness blanketing the earth and trees. Her eyebrows pulled together as she squinted, trying to see into the darkness. Around her, she heard the horrid hissing of the snow.

After a few seconds, her eyes slowly widened as she spotted a huge wave of snow far in front of her. Her face fell, her eyes stricken with terrible distress and panic that was tearing her apart inside as she watched a thick cloud of snow-dust preceding the thundering of the foremost part of the avalanche that was coming toward them.

_Fast_.

A sharp pain lanced through and she cried out as she doubled over, one hand pressed against the gash in her side, blood seeping warm and wet between her fingers. Her heart sank, as if it were strapped to a stone and tossed into a river. "Go," she ordered through clenched teeth, the pain excruciating. "Run, Cole. Run as fast as you can." Her eyes met his, bleak and hollow, her face pale, her breathing shallow. "If you run now, you'll still be able to make it."

Cole's answer was taut silence, a dark veil falling across his face that was now harsh with strain.

"Go!" Ember yelled at him, her voice edged with steel. "_Now_."

In one quick motion, Cole bent and slid his arms under her, one under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and lifted her effortlessly before turning and running as fast as he could away from the wave of snow that was rushing after them.

"No, no, no…" Ember cried out, wincing in pain as her wound pinched and began bleeding freely. "I'll just slow you down. You won't make it. Leave me. _Leave me_!"

Cole looked down at her with faint lines of pain etched around his mouth before he looked forward again, eyes narrowed in concentration, face set with resolve as his speed increased.

Cole ran.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Frozen rain swirled and spiraled violently to the ground around him. Under the sheet of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, causing the ground to be slick under his feet as he tried to out run the approaching avalanche, his sweat crystallizing on his brow. He breathed in short, explosive, gulps as he desperately sought more air. His legs were numb and unsteady, and each step he took was becoming increasingly more difficult to manage, his lungs starting to burn. Ember moaned in pain, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. The sounds of her pain and the sight of her blood fueled his movement and propelled him forward.

The speed of the avalanche increased rapidly and before long the ground on which Cole ran began to move slowly beneath his feet. A wave of snow crashed right behind them and Cole stumbled before falling backward into the snow. Cole pulled Ember protectively into his chest, falling with her in his arms. A dizzy sort of fear came over her as they were carried down the hill with the snowy wave, until they rolled into an open tunnel used for excavating rare metals.

In midair, Cole pulled her closer to him and rolled on his back right before they landed on the ground below, his back taking the brunt of the fall. They landed underground with a heavy thud, the air rushing out of Cole's lungs and blowing the hair back from her face. Cole groaned, pain etched into his features, his breath coming in short quick gasps as he sought to get the air back into his lungs.

The Herald's tightly closed eyes slowly opened to find herself lying on top of Cole, his arms wrapped securely around her. She stared at her hands that were pressed against his chest. They were trembling, the strong pounding of his heart beneath her palm. Her eyes slowly lowered and heat rose to her cheeks as she noticed the entire length of her body was pressed against the hard planes of his. She slowly dragged her eyes up his chest, his neck, his chin, until she reached his eyes.

Cole was staring down at her, wide-eyed and fearful, blatant concern reflected in the icy blue depths of his eyes.

"I'm… I'm a-alright," she stammered softly, answering the unspoken question in his eyes.

Cole's body visibly relaxed, relief crossing his features. After a score of heartbeats, his eyebrows slowly drew together. His haunted eyes filled with a great sorrow that spoke of past pain that still lingered. Large blue orbs shifted back and forth between hers, stroking the depths of them as he slowly reached up and ghosted a finger against a stray curl of red hair that hung over her eye. His finger lingered on the skin of her cheek, as if he couldn't bear _not_ to touch her, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

Something cold fell on her back and the Herald looked over her shoulder to see a mountain of snow falling through the opening above them. She gasped and quickly reached deep down inside and summoned mana. The pain was incredible, almost blinding, but she fought through it with sheer will alone. With a shout of exquisite agony, she threw her hand up and a shield formed around them right before the avalanche of snow fell on them.

Her eyes were clenched, her body shaking, grunts of pain leaving her as she fought to keep the shield above them that was being trampled by endlessly falling snow that was slowly pilling up on top of the shield. She screamed as the last vestiges of strength left her.

As fast as lightening, Cole wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over so he was on top of her, her hips cradling his. Cole covered her head with his hands, using his body to shield her. Her eyes opened to see her shield disappear over Cole's shoulder and the mountain of snow fall on top of them. She turned her head at the last second and tucked her face into his neck with her eyes clenched shut as the snow fell on top of them, burying them. Snow fell heavy on the side of her face sending an icy blast shooting through her, chilling her to her bones.

Panic settled in as she realized they were buried alive beneath what had to be at least ten feet of snow. Maker, they were going to freeze to death. Her fear spiked and her chest burned with the dry, cold air she was drowning in like life. She felt dizzy, nauseated, horror edging to the surface.

She forced herself to calm, her pulse to slow, her panic to ebb. She had to remain calm. Hysteria, she had learned a long time ago, was a useless reaction. After a calming inhalation, she caught the heady scent of leather, cinnamon, and heat. On a breathy sigh, she let the tip of her nose trace the line of his strong jaw and breathed in the scent of his skin. Her teeth were chattering, causing her lips to quiver against the warm flesh of his throat. She felt Cole's arms tighten around her, clutching at her, holding her tightly, as if he feared she would slip away. On a ragged whisper she heard him murmur her name and the sound of it escaping his throat on the fearful, lowly, lonesome tones of his voice pulled at something tender inside her heart. And then blackness reached up and claimed her_._

**Author's Note**: This chapter has a soundtrack: _Rebirth_ by Two Steps From Hell. You can listen to the whole song for free on YouTube.


	9. Chapter 9 – A Wall Full Of Stars

**The Inquisitor's Ghost**

**Chapter 9 – A Wall Full Of Stars **

_Blessed are the righteous_

_The lights in the shadow_

_In their blood the Maker's will is written_

_- Benedictions 4:11_

In the tallest tower of the Skyhold fortress, the Inquisitor stood on her balcony staring out at the most majestic view of the Frostback Mountains. The lightly descending snow was falling softly upon the snowy paths and roofs of Skyhold, coating the Inquisition stronghold in a fresh layer of crisp white powder. The vibrant scarlet of her hair shined like a beacon in the vast whiteness that surrounded her and her greenish blue eyes sparkled in the first rays of sunlight.

Skyhold, or Tarasyl'an Te'las in ancient elvish, meant "the place where the sky is kept." Whatever name you wished to call it, to Ember, it was home. A smile bloomed on her face as she ran her hand along the stone railing. She hadn't had a home since she was eight-years-old. Ever since then she'd been running, hiding, evading capture and the dungeons. Even when she found Leliana, they'd been constantly living on the move as was required of the Left Hand of the Divine. Once Ember was able to go on her own missions for Leliana, she was constantly living on the road. To finally be able to call something her own, to feel safe, to have a _home_ was… there were no words. After all the years of running and hiding from the templars it was nice to feel like she belonged somewhere, even if it was just for a little while.

Ember was also thankful for the people she had with her. Leliana was like a sister to her and she wouldn't be able to do this without her by her side. She visited her mentor in the fortress rookery often, seeking guidance, laughter, and companionship.

Ember had gotten to know Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine over the years she'd been an agent of the Left Hand of the Divine. She trusted them, and she did not trust easily. With each of them, what you saw was what you got. They had their beliefs and convictions, but they were open-minded enough to bend when needed. As for the others, she'd only met them a few months ago, but she could honestly say that they were a strange bunch.

Varric was undoubtedly her favorite. Brilliant, funny, charming and cunning the dwarf could be running Orzammar, the Merchant's Guild, or the Carta, but wisdom made him prefer the shadows, avoid the spotlight, choose to be overlooked. He had a kind heart and good intentions, but had made some hard decisions and been through so much. A heart could only take so much loss before it had to put a wall up to protect itself. He reminded her of herself, a kindred spirit. Sometimes he would see her enter Skyhold after a long mission and he would stop her, get them a few pints of ale, and have her vent her frustrations until she was laughing, feeling lighter, and blissfully drunk. He'd become a dear friend and she was thankful to have him.

Sera was just a child. She was barely eighteen-years-old. But Ember liked her. She was bold, playful, funny, and colorful. She lacked a proper education, but had spirit. Ember had been like that before she found Leliana. Ember would seek the archer out at the Skyhold tavern when she needed to be reminded that the world was more than just rifts, blood, duty, and death. Sera helped her feel her age and to loosen up, do something fun for a change.

As for Iron Bull… Maker help her… the moment that gigantic Qunari saw her long flowing, vivid red curls… well, he'd been trying to get her into bed every since. Despite having to refuse his advances at every turn, she liked Bull. He was strong, courageous, humorous, and dependable. He may be an agent of Ben-Hassrath, but he'd told her that the moment he'd met her and because of that she trusted him more than others.

Blackwall was lying to her. She didn't know why or what about, but he was lying to her. She didn't trust him. She refused to speak with a man who was lying to her. She only visited him at the stables when she absolutely had to, and even then she always came armed.

As for the mages, Ember avoided them. She was afraid they'd detect her magic and expose her as a mage. Despite her avoidance of them for her own personal reasons, she found herself liking Dorian and Vivienne. Dorian was smart, charming, brave, and unapologetically Tevinter. In a nation known for being a land full of monsters, he definitely was the exception. Ember hoped that Tevinter would see him as an inspiration and not as a threat.

Vivienne was similar, except unapologetically Orlesian. Ember couldn't help but admire the Circle mage for she had manipulated the system into granting her power and protection that few other mages were ever able to achieve. She'd bought her freedom from the templars, and Ember wasn't sure she wanted to know what exactly it was Vivienne had given up in exchange for that freedom.

Solas was not who he appeared to be, of that she was absolutely positive. Other than that, she knew she couldn't trust anything he said or did. There was no doubt in her mind that Solas was the most powerful creature she'd ever encountered. She avoided the atrium beneath the library just as much as she avoided the stables.

The Inquisitor placed her chin in her palm as she relished the splendid view of the mountains from her balcony. The sun was barely rising in the sky, its golden rays skimming the high edges of the mountaintops, brightening the sea of white with the advent of dawn. She knew she should head to the training grounds, she needed to become stronger, but she hadn't stopped to watch the sun rise in so long and this one was… spectacular.

The golden rays of the sun made her think of Cole. She couldn't help but wonder where he was, if he was even alive. She still couldn't understand it or believe it. He'd come all the way to Haven to warn her about the Elder One. He'd helped people, her people. Instead of retreating with the others, he'd risked his life to protect hers.

"_I promised that no one was ever going to hurt you."_

Cole's words lingered in her mind – uttered to her on such soft, gentle tones that continued to drift through her mind like leaves on a summer's breeze.

Ember shook the words from her head as she moved into her room to sit in the center of her bed. She sat cross-legged in her obsidian armor, heavy mass of wildly unruly crimson curls flowing down her back as she sharpened her daggers with a whetstone using the care given a prized possession, which they were. The blades were a beloved gift from Leliana. They were light weight but razor sharp, finely crafted and honed just for her hands and fighting style. They were her most treasured belongings, besides the necklace hanging around her neck and the book of poems resting on her nightstand.

The last thing she remembered of Haven was being buried alive in snow with Cole's body shielding hers, his warmth keeping her from freezing to death, her hips cradling his, his arms wrapped so tightly around her. She remembered the deep longing in his voice when he'd whispered something in her ear right before she'd passed out from blood loss, as if he ached for something. Ember didn't understand a lot of things, but she understood _that_ feeling.

She'd awakened later on a bedroll where the Inquisition had made camp just outside of Haven. She had no memory of how she'd gotten from Haven to the Inquisition's camp, and neither did anyone else. They thought she'd died at Haven, all except for Leliana. Leliana knew within her heart that Ember was still alive and would find her way back to them. They had found her with the other injured soldiers, sleeping soundly. She'd been cleaned and her many injuries bandaged and cared for. The leather necklace with the charm of a star hanging from a half crescent moon had been cleaned and secured back around her neck.

Ember had gone looking for Cole once she'd gained consciousness. She'd searched every inch of the camp and then Skyhold when they'd arrived, but found no sign of him. She'd even asked Cullen if he'd seen the young man from Haven that had helped them, but Cullen couldn't recall ever seeing such a young man.

"Inquisitor?" came Cullen's voice, breaking through her thoughts.

Ember's chin turned to face him from her spot on her bed, dagger and whetstone in hand. She blew a ruby red curl out of her face before asking, "Yes?"

The smile he gave her was charming. "Everyone is gathered in the War Room and waiting for your luminous presence."

"Good," she replied pleasantly as she dragged the whetstone almost lovingly over the length of her blade.

Greenish blue eyes shifted to look at Cullen discretely out of the corner of her eye beneath unmanageable russet curls. She hadn't spoken to him that much since he kissed her on the roof of the Chantry in Haven, which was more than two months ago. It was strange and awkward between them now. She was pretty sure Cullen was aware that there was something impeding her ability to become anything more than just friends with him. Thank the Maker he wasn't aware of what exactly that something was.

"Do you require more whetstones?" Cullen asked politely.

"Yes. Please," the Inquisitor answered before hopping off her bed and sheathing her daggers at her back. "Let's head to the War Room. King Alistair said he had information concerning the Wardens and Corypheus. I want to know what the hell is going on. I want the Wardens for allies. I want the pleasure of stealing not only the mages, but also the Wardens from that ancient darkspawn." Her face was set with grim resolve when she reached him. "I want to reach Crestwood and meet Alistair before nightfall."

"You are very determined, I think," he answered, arching an eyebrow in a manner that would have caused havoc in the heart of any other woman.

A smile curved her lips. "Quite. My mama always said it was my greatest failing."

His smile could stop any other woman's heart. "Or greatest strength."

Aquamarine eyes glittered up at him. "We shall see, won't we?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two nights later, the Inquisitor was sitting alone on the wooden floor of her room at Skyhold, her back leaning against her bed's frame. She was staring blankly at the ground as rain fell heavy and loud on the roof above her head, an almost empty bottle of wine in her hand. A single candle burned on her nightstand beside another bottle of wine that was already empty.

For a long time she wavered between unparalleled anger and gut-wrenching despair. She'd met with King Alistair in Crestwood and he'd told her how the Grey Wardens were under the influence of Corypheus. Blackwall was currently under lock and key as she was unable to bring herself to trust him enough to roam Skyhold free and clear.

The Inquisitor lifted the wine in her hand and took a long pull on the bottle, until there was no more. She'd admired the Grey Wardens since she was a child and so her mind was currently swimming in a sea of denial. How could they do this? How could they form an alliance with that monster? Why was everyone in the damn world losing their damn minds? What the hell was happening to the world? How was she supposed to save it when it didn't even want to be saved?

The Inquisitor stood and stumbled drunkenly over to her bed. She removed her black armor and boots, stripping down to her smalls, too tired and drunk to put on tights and a tunic for bed. She removed the dagger she always kept strapped to her calf and placed it under her pillow. She never slept without it. She'd been trained by life and Leliana to always keep her guard up and that's what she'd always done. She'd learned early on as a child that, if given the chance, people will strike first. She never gave them the opportunity to try and get the best of her. Never again.

The Inquisitor blew out the candle on her nightstand and pulled back the covers and drunkenly climbed into the bed. The cool feel of the crisp linen sheets on her skin were a welcomed gift after the day and night's events of fighting, bloodshed, disappointment, and death. Adjusting her pillow, she pulled the blankets up to her chest and closed her eyes. Maker, she was exhausted and the darkness and the soothing sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain above her were exactly what she'd been craving these last few hours.

Sleep would be bliss to obtain.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me!" the young mage girl cried frantically as she shrank against the stone wall of the dungeons, trying desperately to get away from the demon that was stalking her with the wicked-looking dagger in his hand._

_The demon crouched down in front of the young elven girl and spoke to her in a voice too low to hear, but the dagger in his hand glinted in the low light with deadly intent. _

_"Look into my eyes…" she heard the demon say to the young girl._

_The demon raised the dagger in his hand and placed the serrated edge against the girl's neck. Mercilessly, the demon dragged the blade across her neck, blood gushing down the front of the girl's chest and into her robes. The girl convulsed, a spurt of bright blood erupting from her mouth. _

_The demon watched. _

_The demon watched intently as the life left the girl's eyes, as if it were sustenance for his soul. _

The Inquisitor woke with a jolt to her empty, pitch-black room. She couldn't tell what had roused her from her sleep. For a long time, she laid still listening to the rain falling on the roof and windowpane, and the beating of her own heart.

Trying to find a comfortable position, she rolled over onto her side, taking a deep breath, but then tensed as she heard the sound of breathing. Breathing?

Someone was in her room.

The Inquisitor knitted her brow, her pulse going wild with alarm, her natural instincts of self-preservation kicking in. Her body immediately went on the offensive. Her hand moved stealthily to the dagger under her pillow. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, calming her jolted nerves. Gliding the cool steel out from its hiding place, she gained a better grip.

Swiftly she sat up, dragging the dagger out from under her pillow and holding it sideways in front of her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. Blue-green eyes narrowed, intently searching the darkness of her room as the rain beat against the roof. There was a flicker in the dark by her window, a shifting of shadows, and she felt something within them staring at her.

"I know you're there," Ember stated in a low and stiff voice, speaking into the shadows that lined her bedchamber. "Come out of the shadows," she commanded firmly, the authority ringing in her voice.

The words were strangely familiar.

For a long moment there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.

A flash of lightning lit the night sky from outside her window, illuminating her bedchamber for a split second in silvery-white light.

Ember's soft, ragged intake of breath rang sharp and loud in the still of the silence of her bedchamber, her heart pounding in her throat, as the light of the lightening flashed upon a head of thick, shaggy blonde hair that was wet with rain, turning it silver with its light.

A young man was crouched low on his haunches, his elbows resting on his knees as he balanced on the balls of his feet on the wooden frame that lined her bed by her feet, not five feet away from her. He wore wet leathers that hugged his long, whipcord lean, tightly corded figure made up entirely of carved lines and sharp angles.

Another flash of lightning lit her bedchamber causing dark shadows to slash across his sharply chiseled features, highlighting his smooth alabaster skin, harshly carved cheekbones, and long and straight nose that was in perfect conformity with the rigid line of his strong masculine jaw. Her heart chilled in her chest as she found herself staring into the eyes of the ghost who'd haunted her dreams for the past five years.

She sat frozen in her bed, afraid to move, afraid to breathe with the knife still held sideways in front of her chest. For what seemed a small eternity, she remained poised motionlessly in her bed, in just her smalls she realized to her horror. On an exhaled breath she gradually sank back against the headboard, her unruly red curls spilling over her shoulders and down to her flat bare stomach. Her lips parted and one softly spoken word fell out on a shuttering breath, "Cole?"

He said nothing. He remained perched at the end of her bed, crouched down on her wooden bedframe like a gargoyle, the rain dripping off of him and soaking into her sheets.

She began stammering, "Why are you… how did you… how long have you been here?"

The silence that lingered was deafening. Haunted, haunted eyes continued to stare at her beneath a wet mop of unkempt golden locks. The wayward strands of blonde hair leaked water down his face and lay in wet strands across his forehead.

"A while."

Ember sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. That voice… so low and raspy, yet smooth and soft… it seemed to roll right through to her bones. She involuntarily shivered, hoping he didn't see it.

"Have you been in my room the whole time I've been away?"

He looked at her from beneath long, sooty black lashes. "Yes."

"And you don't find that… strange?"

His gaze was piercing. "No."

"Oh," she managed, her voice slightly breathless. After several heartbeats, she was finally able to get her limbs to obey her commands. She turned and placed her dagger down on her nightstand with a trembling hand. With a flick of her wrist she sent magic sprouting from her fingertips to light the wick of the candle on her nightstand, a flame bursting to life and casting the room in a soft golden glow.

When she turned back to him a tiny smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth. That hint of a smile was so devastatingly attractive. "You're safe," he said, raindrops sliding down the pale skin of his throat. "Safe and sound. I was worried. Your lips were so blue before. So much blood. I didn't like it."

She swallowed, trying to calm her nerves as she lifted the sheets to cover her near nakedness, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. "Are you talking about Haven?"

"Yes." He stared at her in silence for a long moment with a look of agony on his face. "Haven. I remember it and it still scares me: Choking fear, can't think with your blood on my hands and on my chest. Your breath is slower. Your lips are blue. So blue. They are not supposed to be blue and cracked and dry. Their supposed to be soft and red, like the petals of a rose." Cole shook his head, blonde hair swaying softly across his eyes. "Protect her. Nothing else matters. But I wasn't fast enough. Too slow. Too _slow_. I couldn't stop them from hurting you. The guilt wracks me with every heartbeat. You're in pain, so I'm in pain. You're dying, so I'm dying. Hot white pain, everything burning. She can't die. Save her. Save _her_. Nothing else matters. Nothing else-"

"Why are you here, Cole?" she interrupted on an unstable breath, her heart unable to hear anymore.

With wet hair and raindrops rolling down his ghostly white face, Cole was staring at her so keenly, with such unblinking intensity, she felt as though he was peering into her very soul. "A piece is missing. Essential. The rest of the puzzle hurts without it."

A cold chill rushed through her veins. Maker, that _look_. There was something so disturbing about the way he was looking at her. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, and somehow flattering all at once. "What are you talking about?"

His expression was wistful as his eyes scanned her hair, her face, her throat. "I've missed you."

She froze. She froze, staring into his eyes, his honest words ringing in her ears and her heart tripping in her chest. She froze while a tremor shimmied up her body.

"It's been five years, Cole," she gritted out. "_Five years_."

He ducked his head, letting his wet hair fall over and hide his eyes, causing droplets of rain to roll down his sharply carved face. "Five years, four months, and seventeen days," he corrected in a tiny voice laden with quiet suffering.

Two pink spots flared in her cheeks and she looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap on top of the coverlet. And there her gaze stayed, while the silence in the room grew from being merely uncomfortable to downright suffocating.

"You're different," she heard him murmur into the silence and she looked up at him. "I didn't get a chance to really look before. But you're different. I see it now." His eyes were alight with some emotion she couldn't define as they scanned every inch of her face. "The Fade is heavy on you. Shining, shimmering, sharp. It's strong and pure. Loud and bright. Similar to before, but… different."

"And you're exactly the same." Scowling, she crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive gesture. "Still slaughtering innocents?" She said the words before she had a chance to think them through and she winced when she heard them in her ears. They were cruel. They made her heart hurt just hearing them spoken in her voice, but they were also true words. That hurt even more. She couldn't forget that.

She saw the way his blue eyes softened in remorse as he looked at her for an interminable moment before saying, "The last time you saw me you didn't want to look at me. You saw a monster." His voice was tight with emotion, stormy blue eyes unimaginably sad as they peered into hers. "And you were right," he managed to say in a self-deprecating way. "They were dying or to be made Tranquil. They were in pain. They were begging for someone to make it stop hurting. Every moment would've been agony. They wanted mercy. I wanted to help, but I also didn't want to fade away. Dark and desperate, using blood and death to make myself alive. I used to be like that. I'm not anymore."

Cole's voice shook with emotion and his words rang with sincerity, and she couldn't help the lump that formed in her throat. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he'd changed, that he wasn't killing innocents anymore. But how could she trust someone that had the ability to influence her mind? He could be bending her thoughts into thinking him harmless so that she would let her guard down and open her mind just that little bit that would allow him to possess her and turn her into an abomination.

Refusing to be manipulated or deceived, she quickly steeled herself against the soft emotions stirring within her. Her lips pursed and her expression hardened beneath her fiery red curls. "I don't want to speak of the past. I want to speak of the present. You still haven't explained why you're here, Cole."

"I want to explain but… I don't always say it right." He looked away from her, staring at the rain rolling down her window, a miserable look on his face. "I've been living in the shadows. Unseen, unrecognized, unwanted. I always see the starlight, but it is remote and far away, and never finds me. I reach for it, but it slips through my fingers, not wanting to be found. In the shadows you are always alone, the world oblivious to your existence." He looked at her from under long black lashes, blue eyes incredibly intense. "I don't want to live in the shadows anymore. I want to live among the stars."

Her resolve to remain unaffected and to not let him get to her began to crumble as she fell victim to eyes the color of a cloudy sky that were so large, so round, and utterly sad in a face that was so forlorn she felt the wretched feeling echoing deep within herself.

The Inquisitor quickly caught herself and smothered the tender emotions that were currently coursing through her. She glared at him, accusingly. She hated that look that resembled a lost, lonely puppy. She hated how it still had an effect on her. She loathed how he could still get under her skin after all these years and after everything she'd done to rid herself of the girlish feelings she'd harbored for him when she was eighteen and young and stupid and naive.

Damn, damn, _damn_.

She didn't need this. He shouldn't be here. She couldn't handle his being here. Anger formed in her gut and she found it comforting. How dare he be here, strolling right back into her life, ruining the fragile balance she'd found in her life with his raspy voice and haunted blue eyes. She hated his eyes, hated the dark shadows that seemed to fill them, hated that she cared, hated that she wanted to be the one to bring light into them.

Her jaw was clenched and she forced the words passed the thin line of her lips, "Thank you for coming to warn me and help me at Haven. I didn't get a chance to thank you for that."

"I will always keep my promise," he whispered to her.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, her heart-shaped face framed by a thick mass of scarlet curls that tumbled over her shoulders. Her features were pinched, causing the freckles speckled across her nose to standout. "The Inquisition thanks you for your service," she uttered through gritted teeth. "I can arrange to have an award granted to you, if you would like."

"I don't want an award."

"Then what do you want, Cole?" The hard knot of distress that was lodged in her throat made the name sound hoarse. She suddenly felt like she was negotiating with the devil on the terms of her soul.

His eyes flickered upward and locked onto hers from beneath disheveled blonde tresses that dripped rain into his eyes. "I want to be where you are."

He didn't elaborate. She kept her gaze fixed on his and remained silent, waiting for some sort of explanation. When she didn't get one, she replied firmly, "That's impossible and you know it."

"Why?"

Her eyes flashed as her heart wrenched. "Because I'm a mage and you're a _demon_!"

Cole shifted uneasily from where he was crouched at the end of her bed on her wooden bed frame, a rueful look on his face. "I want it to be spirit."

Her eyes widened as she recoiled from him, pressing against her headboard. He wasn't even denying it. Maker help her, she suddenly saw her near-future murder playing out in front of her eyes at the hands of the ghost that was still haunting her.

"I am me," he explained quickly when he saw the mixture of terror and apprehension on her face. "The one who won't let anyone hurt you."

When her terrified expression remained, Cole's body flickered and he impossibly appeared standing beside her bed, lean muscles taut and that unearthly aura radiating around him making him appear darker, dangerous, and otherworldly.

Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach at the same time her blood cooled in her veins. That impossible movement only reminded her how he wasn't human.

_Run!_

A warning voice screamed in her mind, her panic mounting, self-preservation instincts taking hold. But her limbs wouldn't obey. She remained frozen, motionless in fear, unable to do anything but stare. Her heart was hammering wildly in her throat as the Ghost of the Spire moved closer to her, gliding across the wooden planks next to her bed like smoke on the wind.

"You're frightened. You don't have to be." The wretched and desperate look in his eyes when he said that prompted a surprisingly sympathetic reaction from her despite the dread that still gripped her. "See me, dear heart," he murmured with his voice so low and hushed, aching and pleading. "See me when you look at me. Just like you used to."

Something tender twisted painfully within her. Those haunted eyes saw so much and asked only to be seen in return. She didn't answer him. Even if she'd been able to think of a reply, she could never have pushed the words past the constriction in her throat. Nor could she look away as she watched him stop beside her and bend over to place one hand on the headboard beside her head and the other on the bed beside her hip, trapping her in the space between the cold wooden headboard and his very warm body.

The heat emanating from him reached out to her, beckoning. She could not feel his evil, but she could feel his power vibrating from his lean, sinewy frame as it hovered over hers, rain dripping off of him. She held her breath for as long as she could, refusing to breath, until the need for oxygen forced her to inhale slowly, taking the scent of him into her lungs. She smelled the scent of the leather of his armor, the wool of the tunic beneath, the rain that slid wet and slippery along his skin that was as pale as the moon itself, and something sweet yet spicy that was all his own.

Greenish blue eyes looked up at him to find him staring down at her, less than six inches from her face, his expression so intense she stopped breathing. She gulped and squeezed her thighs together beneath the sheets that separated that piercing blue gaze from her bare skin.

The light from the candle flickered this way and that, casting dancing shadows upon his milky-white face as he dropped his gaze to rake her body, slowly, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Your body is shaking. You ripple like water when the stone is dropped." His head tilted, eyes questioning. "Why?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips, her breathing quickening as she watched him watching her with all of that focused and unwavering intensity. "It doesn't matter," she managed breathlessly, trying desperately to force the trembling to stop, not to give her away. She didn't understand why anytime he moved within a foot of her personal space, it sucked the breath out of her. She especially didn't understand why she liked it.

A disjointed, fragmented feeling of unreality kept her rigid, paralyzed, her pulse pounding in her ears as he slowly brought one of his hands to her face, the very tips of two wet fingers sweeping feathery light across the elegant hollow beneath her cheekbone.

Instantly her body tensed into immobility. Her heart seemed to skip a beat and then pounded at double time, sending the blood roaring in her ears. She could have pulled from his touch, but she didn't. Her breath had deserted her like a traitor and she found she had no will to break the connection.

Cole's eyes followed his hand as it slowly moved down her jaw, then her neck, stopping at her collarbone. He dragged his eyes back to hers and their shade was darker then before. With those eyes delving into hers and his fingers on her skin, she felt like the intervening years fade away until she was eighteen again, young and helpless and in a dark cell with nothing and no one but her ghost, her protector, her one and only friend.

Deep cerulean orbs studied every nuance of her expression from beneath messy blonde locks. Those eyes seemed to reach in and probe the depths of her eyes, before falling to linger on her rapidly increasing pulse at her neck, before he lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Your heart beats faster when I touch you. Your eyes become darker, you skin warms, and you shine brighter. Why?"

She could barely process his words. She was torn between the need to move away from his overwhelming presence and the desire to lean forward and curl into him and the protection he could certainly offer her.

Protection? She blinked at the idea. How insane was it to want protection from the only thing she'd ever needed protection from?

Unyielding, Cole's gaze captured hers in a long glance as his fingertips ran lightly over the necklace he'd made for her that was hanging around her neck before letting his hand return to the bed beside her hip. "Do you remember it?" he uttered, his voice hoarse from the raw tightness in his throat.

Her chest rose and fell swiftly. "R-Remember what?"

His eyes held hers, icy blue and as deep as forever, while a heated look flitted across his face, so fleeting that Ember was sure she imagined it. "Warm lips. Soft as a summer rain. Starlight-flavored. Light at first, like raindrops splashing down, falling on my skin. Soft sighs inhaled. Gasping, trembling, air seeking, and then lips again. Head underwater, drowning. Feeling like I'm going to die, yet can't get enough." His voice was strained, eyes tormented.

"Cole…" What should have sounded like an admonishment came out like an entreaty.

A raindrop dangled at the end of a lock of blonde hair that was hovering above her before it landed with a soft plop on her bottom lip. His eyes moved downward to her mouth and rested there for an uncomfortably long time. "Can I have it again?" His voice was rougher, darker than it had been.

She blinked a few times at his words. "Can you have what again?"

"Your mouth." A tremor shook her at the vibration of his low, husky murmur. His intense gaze remained fixed on her mouth as he leaned in excruciatingly slowly until his lips just barely reached hers. "I want it again."

The Inquisitor stiffened on a sharp intake of breath as Cole's lips hovered over hers, his warm breath teasing her lips like fingertips. The pulse in her wrists hammered violently as she battled back a flood of emotions. She gasped in air that he exhaled until she felt dizzy.

Sweet Andraste, he wasn't even touching her and yet he'd reduced her to a quivering heap of raw nerves. How was it that he and he alone could affect her so strongly? She hated it. She despised the power he wielded over her. She had to fight this magnetism, this irrepressible allure that hadn't ebbed in the past five years that would inevitably lead to her – _their_ - destruction.

With his breath mingling with her own, she forced herself to remember what he did. Remember what he was. She needed to remember that now. Every fiber of her being knew he was dangerous. He was like a Venus flytrap - attractive but treacherous. Cole was as safe as broken glass. Yet her body didn't seem to care about all that. Stupid lust. But she could not forget, and certainly could never forgive, that he had murdered an innocent young mage girl who'd begged him for her life.

The Inquisitor forced her stomach to stop quivering in anticipation and schooled her features into a stoic mask. "Anything about us is in the past. Let's leave it there," she uttered, speaking in a tightly controlled voice that belied her chaotic emotions.

Only a hairsbreadth away, she watched Cole squeeze his eyes shut, felt his heated breath stutter unevenly against her lips, and saw his jaw clench – in pain? Or restraint?

After a few heartbeats, he reluctantly pulled back slightly, his eyes burning and uncomprehending as he looked down at her.

Her chin jutted out belligerently. "Cole, I'm asking you as nicely as I'm going to ask you. Please leave."

Hurt and confusion flashed across his face before falling and settling into panic. "Wait. That didn't work. Let me try again."

Glowering, she leveled unsympathetic eyes on him. "You don't get to try again. Now please leave."

His eyebrows were pulled together and the pain on his face was raw and real and heartbreaking. "But… but the words came out wrong. I didn't say it right." There was a hard desperation in his eyes that sent chills down her spine. "Let me try again. The right way. You'll forget me in a minute."

"I will _never_ forget you. That's the problem!" she cried, some of her own pain inadvertently leaking into her voice. "You are haunting me!" Her words rang out loudly and sharply, resounding with echoes.

Cole hesitated as if he was going to say something more, then changed his mind. Silence engulfed them. The air between them vibrated raw with tension, the past echoing all around them.

Slowly, his face fell, becoming closed off, as if someone had dropped a curtain over his face. His emotions became shuttered and his features brooding as he took a step back from her and lowered his arms to his sides, allowing her room to breathe again.

One booted foot that was covered in mud and wet from the rain moved back on the wooden floorboard beside her bed and it creaked under his weight. Cole took another step back, fathomless blue eyes never leaving hers as he took another step that brought him further away from her. Those eyes held no emotion. No light flickering in their azurite depths. Another step and he was swallowed up by the shadows of her room and there was a shifting within them as the ghost of her past slipped silently out of her window into the rain pouring from the heavens outside.

The Inquisitor's breath left her in a rush as she fell back against her headboard. Shakily, she raised a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heart as a dozen conflicting emotions warred within her, just as they always did when Cole was involved.

Her eyes flickered to stare at the window he'd just left out of, watching the rain roll slowly down the windowpane. She felt suddenly… lonely without him there. She shouldn't. A mage shouldn't miss a demon.

With a heavy sigh, she shuffled down into her covers. She laid her pounding head on her pillow and blew a stray red curl from her face, wondering why he made her feel like she was wrong when every instinct she had told her she was right. Her instincts were never wrong. When her eyes lifted to the ceiling of her room she gasped in shock.

Hundreds of tiny golden-white stars dotted the deep black background of her ceiling.

Her heart constricted. Tears burned her eyes and her throat ached. She knew instantly who'd taken the time to paint all of those tiny little stars on her ceiling.

There was only one person in the entire world that knew she loved to sleep under the stars.

**Author's Note**: This chapter has a soundtrack: _Little Talks (Live from Vatnagaroar) _by Of Monsters and Men. You can listen to the whole song for free on YouTube. Make sure it is this particular live version, you'll see why, it is a much darker and eerie version that fits this story. Also, someone asked me about Cole calling Ember "dear heart." In Chapter 6, you see that is what the real Cole's mother used to call him. It is very meaningful to Cole since that term of endearment is associated with the few memories the real Cole had of ever receiving compassion in his life. On a personal note, "dear heart" has a very special place in my own heart. My husband is Irish and he calls me "croí daor," which is Irish for "dear heart." I love you all and thank you so much for all your comments. They mean so much to me. I hope you leave a comment. I really love hearing from you all.

I just wanted to give a shout out to Repseh and CalypsoKitsune. Repseh left me a review recommending the song Eternity by Kelly Sweet for this chapter, and CalypsoKitsune recommended the song Frame of Mind by Tristam & Braken. Let me know what you guys think and if you have anymore recommendations for soundtracks to chapters. I usually have one in mind for certain chapters, but I love hearing what you guys think. Love you!


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